Vicissitudes
by Toppledate
Summary: 50 Themes: They are broken and remade by the tides of the Lifestream, but the still shots linger in their memories past all resolution. Updated often, Yuffentine, mostly one shots with drabbles sprinkled in.
1. Weeping Silk

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any part of FFVII.

AN: Vincent x Yuffie, a bit angsty. There will be more pairings and different moods in later chapters.

**.:Vicissitudes:.**

The rain is gray, and hard against his skin. Splatters of liquid ice fall from the skies to shatter upon his unyielding body—they feel like numbing needles.

_She would have been warm._

His skin is too pale, too altered, too inhuman to sense the pernicious chill. His claw is testament enough to his inhumanity. He is a demon, cold and scarred with the touch of death.

_She wouldn't have cared._

His gaze, once captivating, now merely empty, rises up to the pagoda. She's there, he knows. His eyes are dull orbs of once-fiery glass, his long hair cobalt black and tangled by the biting wind.

_She would only have laughed to see him._

Long drapes of black and white flutter from every surface—the city is a forest of weeping silk, and they are apparitions in a sea of forlorn mist. His heart feels something it has not felt for so long. The demons sense it, and they want to howl and break free, abandon all chains and cages of restraint. They want, as he wants, to rend and destroy and most of all—cry—or is it just him? He doesn't know anymore.

_Maybe she would have loved him._

He turns—and brushes away those droplets of clarity upon his eyelashes.

_But she is gone now._


	2. Given

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any part of FFVII. But I do own a very thick geometry textbook. Yep…

AN: Oi. Another Yuffentine. Couldn't help it…but I will have a different pairing next. Cloud x Aeris in the next drabble.

**.:Vicissitudes:.**

"Why do I have to learn math? This is supposed to be an adventure, not school!" Yuffie whines, glaring accusingly at him. _He_ is the six-foot tall, cloak-clad gunman who is not only entirely too pale, but apparently too scholarly for her own good.

His answer is earth-flooringly pragmatic. "Because you are rude, tactless, and uneducated; therefore, you are unfit to rule Wutai in your current state."

Cid chokes on his stick of tar, also known as a cigarette, and guffaws heartily. "That would be you in a nutshell, brat!"

She is hurt inside but does not show it. Instead, she skips ahead, her step light; it is only when she is far out of sight that her vivacious gait slows and is weighted to a despondent tread. Drops of liquid fall to the sunlit grass where nothing but dandelion fluff had fallen before.

…

_a equals b, b equals c, c equals d_

…

"What is the answer?" Vincent asks, impassive patience in his voice. She scowls, and she wishes for once that she could stab those pointy feet of his with her shuriken. Being difficult, she turns her head away and does not answer.

Twenty seconds of silence and Cid's temper boils over. "Goddamn (&(ing idiot girl! How hard is it to learn the Transitive Property?"

Her voice is venomous. "Maybe it's because I have a bad teacher."

Vincent's eyes turn away, and his body is rigid. Then in a blindingly rapid movement, his gun flashes silver-black and the shot flies at her feet. She jerks, her fear rising despite her defiance, and she feels that ineffable horror that had caught her heart at their first meeting. But the gun is already back in his holster—he leaves wordlessly, pressing on with nothing but cold apathy.

She looks down and sees the blood of the dead snake splattered on her sneakers.

…

_a?_

…

Cid tries to lighten the mood. "How about this? I'll give you a nice, real life example so you can understand with your little brain, brat."

She hmphs and refuses to look at _him_. He, who was defying all laws of meteorology and casting a veritable gloom on the road before them.

Cid ignores both offended parties. "Say that Vincent loves Tifa." Both offended parties suddenly transformed into two disgusted parties. Trust Cid to come up with an example like that. Vincent's hand, in particular, was inching surreptitiously toward his gun.

But Cid was not finished. "And Tifa loves Cloud, who loves Yuffie. So, what do we get, brat? Other than a bunch of sick relationships that's more tangled than Cait Sith's wires?"

She looks at Vincent, at the tired gauntness of his shoulders. She knows that he is far from physical exhaustion; petty travel at human speeds does not tax his enhanced body. He only walks in that manner when he is thinking about his dead lover, Lucrecia. And suddenly, she feels something foreign in her chest—something greedy, something excruciating, something commanding. And she knows she wants to act upon it.

In a voice so soft that it was almost timid, she musters as much courage as she can and obeys her heart. "Maybe…Yuffie loves Vincent but she doesn't want to say it. Because…there are too many things in the way."

He does not react, not even to correct her. The crushing pain resides once more in her chest, just like it did when her mother died, when her father first slapped her, when _he first spoke of her_. She hangs her head, already inured to the empty ache. She just wants to slash into coppery warmth now—a monster's or her own, it didn't matter. She had done it before.

"No." It was just one word, so quiet in his gravelly baritone. Both she and Cid glance up in surprise, but his face is turned away.

"Vincent loves Yuffie. It is a given."

Cid sputters. "That's no giv—"

But the foul-mouthed pilot stops at the smile upon Yuffie's face, more brilliant than the sun's rays.


	3. How to Get Peace On A Train Ride

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FFVII. So stop chewing my feet, you big corporate dogs…

AN: This fic has been changed to romance, Yuffentine. This drabble today has been bouncing in my head forever…okay, since two weeks ago, in the shower. But it's cute for once!

**.:Vicissitudes:.**

…

Yuffie's head lolls with the motion of the train, but she is oblivious to it all as she sleeps beside Vincent peacefully, a bit of drool sliding out the corner of her mouth. He glances at the slumbering girl beside him, and thanks Chaos fervently for reminding him to dose her food with tranquilizers before the trip. She would never have stood for it; Yuffie prefers suffering through motion-sickness loudly (with a large amount of projectile vomit) to calming her stomach artificially with drugs. But _he_ prefers to have a cloak free of stomach contents after a train ride.

Deeming it safe that she would not soon awake and rag him for drugging her, he pulls out a novel (_My Bloody Valentine: A Story of Dark Love and Betrayal_)to occupy his time. The passengers in the compartment are rowdy and malodorous, for the most part, and he finds that he can't concentrate, especially when a man spits a mere three inches from where his claw rested on the seat. Not for the first time, Vincent wishes that Cid could be less paranoid and actually use the Highwind for its purpose: a vehicle for transporting passengers, not a scenic tea room.

But he is jerked from his musings quickly enough, when the door suddenly bursts open to admit four strutting youths.

From behind the pages, Vincent sees them: young, affluent heirs, their clothes so new that their colors scream of cleanness and their style stinks of money. They walk with a swagger so reminiscent of Rufus's that he almost expects them to start running hands through their hair vainly and speaking about "ruling the people through fear." Their approach puts him on intangible alert that they never see.

The four's eyes are caught by Yuffie's prone form. "She's cute," one sneers.

"Yeah, if you're into the totally flat-chested, twelve-year-old type."

They laugh, and Vincent's disgust deepens.

"Look at her drool."

"I bet if we shoved a sock in her mouth, she wouldn't notice."

The inane idea catches like wildfire in their dim minds. One stoops and removes the noxious item from his foot, and they snigger as the boy extends his hand one foot—two feet—

Then the youth suddenly comes to a dead stop, because something cool and smooth is pressed to his cheek. Turning slightly, he is engulfed by a wave of icy fear as he finds himself staring down the barrel of a very large and very dangerous looking gun. And who's the owner of this magnificent pistol? Vincent, of course.

The gunman slowly slides his eyes from the page to stare directly into the boy's eyes—and he _glares_ for a full twenty seconds. Now, if you remember Vincent's Level 1, No. 2 glare, that was nothing compared to this. _This _is tantamount to having Chaos use your mind for nail clipping (a.k.a. ripping and rending you to bits to wear down excess talon). Needless to say, it is extremely unpleasant to receive this look from point-blank range, especially when combined with the threat of Vincent's very merciless gun.

At this point, the boy is trying not to wet himself, and he hopes that perhaps pulling his rank would deter this mysterious, psychotic madman. But as he opens his mouth to utter his father's all-important name, Vincent cuts him off.

"If I shoot…" He chooses this moment to take the safety off. "The bullet should destroy approximately fifty-five percent of your brain…"

The boy's mouth opens and closes like a fish's as he begins to hyperventilate, and his companions are attempting to leave without attracting notice. Vincent scrutinizes the boys' cowardice for a minute, then sighs.

"But I would not want to trouble the proprietors of this train with cleaning your remains," he dead-pans. With a deft flip, the gun is back at his waist and his gloved hand is already turning another well-worn page. The boys take this as a sign to finally scream in high-pitched voices and leave noisily and hastily.

The rest of the passengers in their car stare at this whole ordeal, completely unmoving and silent. Beside him, the man who spat has his cigarette hanging loosely from mouth, the end already extinguished. Then in a shuffle of quick movement, the compartment empties as its occupants make excuses to stuff themselves into neighboring cars, remarking that "yes, cars with fifty people inside are more pleasant than any with tall, red-cloaked gunmen." Presently, Vincent finds that the air is finally clean and the space silent.

Well, silent except for Yuffie's slight groan as she shifts, overbalances, and sprawls in a heap across his lap. His reflexes scream at the sudden contact, but not to dispose of it, as he would have done to anybody else that dared to touch him in such a manner. Instead, an irrational part of his brain was (perhaps better known as Chaos) was informing him that intimacy was good—wait! No, his mind cannot go there…and some conventional part of his mind (that is purposely ignoring his rising heart rate) recognizes that this position is rather inappropriate between him and a teenager.

So, he tries to move her with a gentle push, but she only growls vaguely and fists her hands in his cloak. Raising an immaculate eyebrow, he sighs when he realizes that she is set on using him as a pillow for the remainder of the trip. But her warm weight is strangely comfortable, and he finds that he doesn't care anymore.

Flipping the book open again, he reads in the sunlit midmorning, and no one dares to enter the train car. But if anyone musters up the courage to peek in through the window, he would see a very uncharacteristic smile on Vincent's face as his free hand absently smoothes Yuffie's short brown locks.

…

AN: I hope you enjoyed it! Haha…I'm trying to write fluffier things as Valentine's Day approaches. Sigh…my piano competition is in two weeks. I think I'm going to play terribly and mortify myself, my parents, and my teacher.


	4. Furniture

**Disclaimer:** Owning FFVII would be wonderful, but this poor high school student, unfortunately, does not possess such a privilege.

AN: Yay! I took a few days off to recuperate and recharge my brain, which had been producing nothing but scrap metal for the past two days. So, I decided to spend some time actually doing my homework in time and sleeping a full eight hours. Now (after I fried my brain again in the math contest today), I'm going to write another one! And this takes place sometime after the game, but before Advent Children.

**.:Vicissitudes:.**

The clamor of the crowd beat upon Vincent's fraying patience as he followed Cloud, Tifa, Barret, and Marlene down the aisle to their hard, backless seats in the Event Square at the Golden Saucer. The open-air amphitheater, constructed out of grey granite polished to an eggshell smoothness, was almost completely packed with lovers and loners, parents and children, and youths and seniors. It was, after all, a rare Valentine's Day when the night air was brisk but not biting, and when the moon was full and unobstructed by clouds.

And when Cloud had suggested a group outing earlier in the day, Yuffie had been the one to brightly chirp out "Golden Saucer's the BEST! Come on, Cloud, we just have to see their new play!"

And thus, Vincent now found himself being herded down the congested aisle in one of his least favorite places on the Planet. People buzzed happily as they walked to and fro beside him. Children scurried down below the canopy of adult arms and bodies, weaving through the forest of legs, some even fearlessly ducking under Red XIII to the large feline's surprise.

He glanced behind him and wished again for the security of his Death Penalty. Obviously, bringing the gun to a social event was about as wise as pulling Red XIII's tail, but he had always felt uncomfortably vulnerable without a weapon.

His glinting eyes swept behind him again when he missed the sight of Yuffie's small head of fluffy brown hair, and alarm shot through him—she had been walking behind him just moments ago. Coming to a full stop, he abruptly turned and ignored the slightly apprehensive looks with which the approaching people regarded him.

"What's wrong?" came the gravelly voice of Red XIII.

"Yuffie is missing," he replied shortly.

"She's fine. She's probably stealing some poor man's wallet right now," he rumbled. But Vincent was not reassured before he scanned the amphitheatre quickly and found her purchasing food from a vendor near the back of the room. She was gesticulating forcefully and somehow cowing the six and a half foot man into submission. Vincent suppressed a wry grin; Yuffie had always been an excellent bargainer.

Turning around, he noticed that Barret was already seated with Marlene firmly seated upon his broad shoulders. Denzel sat beside the large man, attempting to stop Marlene from wriggling her bare toes in his hair. Cloud and Tifa sat nearby, the normally tense swordsman relaxed and frolicsome for once. They laughed as Red XIII effectively pushed a rather obnoxious looking business man away with his flaming tail and lounged on the wooden bench.

The feline's bulk left only a bit of space for Vincent and Yuffie, who had not returned yet. Sighing, the former Turk sat down with a swish of his cloak and observed the happy masses of people about him. The glowing lights of the square washed the dull granite floor with textured gold, and more beams flickered patterns across the sea of anticipatory faces. The sun had set to leave just a tinge of purple on the horizon, and the show was about to start.

Suddenly, there was a rustle of cloth beside him and a polite, feminine voice spoke. "Is this spot free?"

It was a heavily pregnant woman dressed in a white dress with a black coat. A boy, no more than three years old, clung to her side and stared at him with timid eyes. "It's just that it's so crowded—"

Vincent flicked his eyes to hers, and she paled slightly as the words caught in her throat. Unconsciously, she tightened her hold on her son, who had felt the same exact flash of fear that had rippled through his mother when she saw Vincent's eyes. Her own large, doe eyes traveled over his cloaked form with apprehension growing in their depths. "Maybe you're saving that seat for someone…" she said with a quaver in her voice.

But he could already see that there were no other empty seats. Even the aisles were filled with children and adults opting to array themselves in a pile of warm bodies in lieu of sitting on the tightly packed benches. She would have to either take the seat he had been reserving for Yuffie or stand, and he did not want to force such discomfort upon her in her pregnant state.

"Take it. There are none left," he said quietly, turning his disquieting eyes away. She paused, then gingerly took the seat and sat her son on the edge, as far from Vincent as possible. As she moved, her eyes caught sight of something and her hand became almost painfully rigid on her son's shoulder.

Vincent knew what it was: his inhuman monstrosity of an arm. He tucked it out of sight among the folds of his cloak, and felt a tinge of bitterness. How long had it been since a civilian had looked at him without horror? It seemed just like yesterday when women of all classes from the least virtuous bar girls to the most sophisticated—like Lucrecia, his mind reminded him unpleasantly—flocked about him like so many moths about a flame. But of course, like the spots of night-colors that the insects were, these women's attraction had only led to pain and death.

The others were lucky; perhaps their hearts had been broken momentarily, or perhaps their transient flight through life was stalled a bit by the turbulence of ill-fated infatuation. But Lucrecia—the only woman to have regarded him with neither fear nor intimidation, the only to have rejected him—he had broken her delicate wings, burnt her to pale ashes of what she once was.

And now, the sin must have shown in every facet of his cursed eyes. Mothers cowered and protected their children from this atrocity of nature that he was. Grown men quaked inside and set their jaw as they shielded their families from the shadow of his existence. And worst of all, he feared inside that perhaps they, his friends, would someday turn around and look at him with the same eyes. The same eyes of fear, disgust, and hatred.

His right arm, encased in the tight golden alloy that was crafted cleverly into a jagged claw, twitched as the old pain returned. It was not so bad now, just a slight cramp in the mangled muscle or a bit of fire in the modified joint. Vincent clenched the claw into a fist, gritting his teeth at the sudden scream of protest in his tendons.

And that was when something pounced on him, wrapping a pair of lithe arms in a choking hold around his neck. He had been totally unprepared for the impact, and the momentum jerked him forward, nearly causing his head to hit a man's back. A warm cheek was pressed lightly to his neck, a breath tickling his ear, and a high-pitched voice deafened him. "VINNNIIEEEE!" screamed Yuffie.

Even his Turk training could not prevent him from wincing as his ear was assaulted at point-blank range with the sheer power of the young ninja's voice. She now had somehow maneuvered herself to straddle Red XIII's rump, ignoring the flaming tail that was waving threateningly in her face. Thrusting a bag of popcorn at him, she began loudly recounting the epic of how she had acquired the treat.

"You know what? The idiot tried to trick me into paying three GP for the stupid popcorn, which I swear I could have like gotten for four gil, and so I told him that if he did business like that, I would hit him with my shoe! Then he got scared of me, the Great Ninja Yuffie, and he finally gave it to me for ten gil, but only after I really threw my shoe at him!"

Pausing to take a breath and catch Red's tail as she struggled to maintain balance on his wriggling body, she reached out fearlessly and used his arm to steady herself. "Man, it's crowded! Didn't you save a seat for me, you meanies?"

The others automatically directed their attentions to Vincent, who shrugged and shifted to allow them to see the pregnant woman. Yuffie understood instantly.

"Aw…now where do I sit? Can I sit on you, Red?"

The large red lion snorted indignantly. "You most certainly may not, Miss Yuffie Kisaragi. I am a sentient being, not the latest trend in red, furry furniture."

"Well, I have to say, you make quite a nice beanbag, Red," drawled Yuffie, and she received a vigorous shake for the comment. The furious movement finally unseated her as she slid over Red's glossy fur, face-planting painfully into the concrete. Tears leaked involuntarily out the corners of her eyes as her nose informed her of exactly how damaged it was. She reached an arm down to push herself up. "Ow! (& it, Red, you didn't have to do that!"

"I'm sorry, Yuffie," said the immediately apologetic Red, dismayed that he had caused her such pain.

Pouting, she glared back at Red from the floor and suddenly clambered onto Vincent's lap, _accidentally_ kicking the cat on the way. He had no time to protest as she moved gracelessly but quickly, swinging her legs over his to dangle about six inches from the ground. Sighing contentedly, she leaned back into his chest, wriggling to adjust her position.

He was frozen at the sudden contact; this was not even just an accidental brush against his shoulder in a crowded hallway, or even the urgent steadying hand of an ally in battle. Her body was so small and light against him—he understood for the first time the frailty that lay within her delicate bones. It would be so easy for a wayward blow, a momentary loss of control,or perhaps a fit of rage when Chaos surged through him, to permanently dim the light that burned within the girl.

"Hey, Vinnie." He could feel the vibrations against his chest when she spoke.

"…"

"What are you thinking about?" Her voice was unusually pensive. "You looked so serious when I jumped on you from the aisle."

"…It was nothing."

"You know, if you're worried, I didn't hit anybody with my feet when I jumped. Well, I think I did give you a nasty bruise when I landed, but you're okay, right?" With that, she punctuated by solidly elbowing him, as it to prove her point that he was indeed fine and perfectly able to withstand her attack.

"Yuffie. That hurt."

"Oh. Sorry!" she cried and twisted to face him, concern on her youthful features as she rubbed his ribs vigorously. "Is that better?"

He nodded, a bit of surprise rising in his eyes. She was so naive, so fearless of the killer whose lap she sat on. Long ago, he had become accustomed to how people shrank from him, how even the most innocent child instinctively knew that he was something unwholesome. He had dismissed them as mere hindrances to his objective anyway, just obstacles in his path to kill Hojo. But it was not until now that he realized how much he missed simple human contact that was unmarred by the coppery scent of blood.

"Hey Vinnie." Her voice brought him out of his thoughts as he noted that the show was about to start.

"Yes?"

"You're really warm, y'know that? Just like a couch with a heater or something. My back isn't cold at all."

"I'm glad," he replied dryly.

"But my arms are cold," she continued, shivering slightly. "Hey, Vinnie, you don't mind, do you?" Grabbing his cloak, she proceeded to tuck it tightly around the both of them, so that only her head was exposed to the chilly night wind. "Thanks for lending me your cloak!"

"You're welcome," he replied, slightly distracted when Tifa suddenly turned back and started giggling madly. Then it became even worse when she smacked Cloud's arm with a fist and forcefully turned his head back to look at them. An expression of shocked amusement spread across his face and Tifa started reaching into his pocket for a camera phone.

But before she could acquire her new material for humiliating her team members, Yuffie shifted down with a suddenjerk and removed her sneaker. With a swift movement, she tossed the dirt-caked shoe in their direction, her accuracy remarkable as it successfully flattened half of Cloud's spikes of hair.

"Take that, you evil people!" she yelled, leaning so far forward that she would have slipped off had Vincent not wrapped an arm loosely around her waist. Though Tifa stuck her tongue out in return to Yuffie's threat, Cloud was too mortified to respond as he felt his leveled hairstyle.

But the lights were dimming and the stage began to glow brightly; the crowd's shouts softened to a murmur of anticipation. Yuffie settled back against him, and he removed his arm now that she was no longer in danger of falling into the row in front of them. She merely slouched, allowing him to support all of her weight.

"Hey Vinnie."

"What?"

"You're really bony, you know that? You need to eat more."

"If I'm so uncomfortable a piece of furniture, then why did you choose to sit on me?"

Her answer was forthright. "Because Red's too mean, Barret's got two kids climbing all over him already, and Cloud's probably going to spend the whole time doing mushy things with Tifa. And I can't possibly sit on a girl's lap, so Tifa's out." She paused to pout thoughtfully. "And her boobs would probably end up smacking my back all the time."

"…"

"Nah. I think sitting on you was my best option," she concluded, grinning up into his face. "Besides, I like sitting on you."

His reply was sarcastic. "Because I'm similar to a heated couch?"

"No," she said firmly. "Because I trust you."

He froze, stunned. The simple statement was one that he had heard many times before, but it had never been uttered in such a way to him. Undoubtedly, his colleagues had believed in his unwavering ability to kill, and even Lucrecia had once jokingly stated that she trusted Vincent to speak in ellipses. But never had a person declared it this way—the way that spoke of a bond deeper than mere acquaintance, of a willingness to place his or her life into his hands without a thought.

Yuffie continued, oblivious to his state of mind. "And I trust you because I know you'll never hurt me or let me be hurt. Because I know you care about me, about all of us."

His throat was dry, but for once, something was flowing in his heart that was somehow warmer than his blood had ever been. "Yuffie—"

"Shhh—the show's starting," she said, a smile in her voice. The fanfare played, and a crescendo of applause rose from the audience, the sound loud enough to drown out anything he could have said.

But she understood anyway, and reached down to give his hand a light squeeze. "Vinnie, you'd better promise not to mope anymore, because then I'd have to drag you around all the time like a security blanket just to make sure you aren't being depressed."

He laughed, and felt freer than he had in ages. "I promise."

…

AN: Thanks for reviewing, everybody! I love you guys! Wow…this chapter has been insanely long. Now I go off to die in my piano competition…


	5. Cutting

**Disclaimer:** I know the drill—no, I don't own FFVII, and disaster would occur if I did.

AN: Sorry for not updating! I've been practicing for my fiasco of a piano competition, and it turns out that all that time was wasted. I lost on my piano competition horribly, so I've been crying at random moments for two days now. Hah, no more fluff. My last three chapters have been sheer saccharine sweetness, so this one is darker in nature.

Current Soundtrack: REDEMPTION, by Gackt (Dirge of Cerberus theme song)

**.:Vicissitudes:.**

The concept of self-mutilation was no stranger to him. Of course, Vincent was no fool; he did not destroy his flesh with blades to relieve pain through pain—no, he healed too quickly for that. The gift and curse of Chaos was his eternally unbreakable body; the demon's fire was like a drug that never faded. It forever sought to sear his cells with all-too-quick regeneration, halting senescence by the price of those flurries of mutation that transmuted his body into that of a demon's.

The transformations were not painless. He heard it every time, the dark laughter laced by the senseless screech of sanity shattered long ago. The sickening outpouring of his life force followed, as the tissues twisted and tore themselves into new forms.

Then came the pain, the endless overwhelming pain that blocked out everything, even the memory of her. _Lucrecia_, the demon whispers in a caress against his mind. He loved this pain almost as much as he did her—because it was pure, unadulterated, and excruciating. No, he did not cut himself. It was so much more sweetly agonizing to just drive himself in battle to the release of the demon.

Because even if it were just for a few moments, Vincent Valentine was almost free to forget.

…

"Barret! Watch out!" Yuffie screamed as she vaulted off the cave wall to deftly snatch the Oritsuru out of the air. The delicate contraption of folded steel was dripping trails of black blood from the lacerated skin of the Dark Dragon. Spikes of dark cartilage and bone rose from its sinuous body, covered in dark scales; their edges were dull and grimy, scored by countless negligent brushes against jagged cave rock.

"I'm tryin' here!" The large, burly man was shooting desperately at the beast as it roared in pain, thrashing its tail against the rocks with frightening force. Vincent winced as he quickly dodged a falling boulder to aim once again for the creature's pus incrusted eyes.

The drake's bloated belly was shining with blood in the dim light, Yuffie's weapon having efficiently slashed numerous shallow cuts into the tough flesh. Bullet holes from both Vincent and Barret's guns peppered its hideous head, but somehow it had managed to thwart their attempts to blind it.

Yuffie latched onto a ledge in the ceiling and hung upside down, her hands clasped with the green light of a spell. "Fire 3!" she cried. The fireball engulfed the creature's head in a bloom of torrid red. The dragon screeched and ducked its damaged face down to sweep the cave floor blindly, knocking Vincent into a rock wall with a jarring crack.

His face hardened into a rictus of pain as his nerves screamed in protest. Chaos, sensing his imminent loss of control, scrabbled vigorously in his mind, but he gritted his teeth and forced the demon down. Yuffie swore and cast another spell, trying to distract it as she leapt from ledge to ledge in an attempt to reach Vincent. But the fire had enraged the dragon, and it dodged with a movement that seemed unnaturally fast. She was forced to halt her progress midway as the monster nearly disemboweled her with its claws.

"It's no good!" yelled Barret. "We're all too wounded right now! We need to get out of here!"

She nodded tersely, her heart in her throat as she watched Vincent stagger up, gripping the rock face for support. "We have to get Vin—!"

The momentary lapse in her guard was all that the dragon needed. Its raw, bleeding throat convulsed, a blast of sheer heat scorching the already damaged flesh. As Vincent blinked to clear the pain from his head, his eyes were greeted by a horrific sight. The dragon's maw was shuddering with the release of a jet of flame so hot that its core glowed azure.

Yuffie was turning, sensing the heat, but too slow, too late. Her eyes widened with the sudden panic of cornered prey, her muscles convulsing in instinctive defense. The fear on her face snapped something within him and he released the demon, embracing the rush of pain that came more quickly than it had ever before.

As he watched Chaos wash his mind with red, the last spot of uncorrupted of his vision was the reflection of glowing red in her grey eyes. He remembered wishing—hoping that it had been in time—before he lost to the fires in his mind.

…

_You've never let me out before._ The voice was deep, rumbling like that of a monstrous dog's. Vincent had heard it too many times since that fateful day when he chose to down the contents of the purple vial.

_Have I had a reason to?_ He laughed bitterly; insanity was already consuming him—soon, he would become one of those lepers of society, conversing forever with entities trapped in his head. Why, he was already halfway there. He had not one, but four fiends in his mind, constantly vying to control him.

_But you let me out this time._ Chaos paid no mind to his remarks.

_Yes._

The demon chewed this over, and to Vincent's surprise, suddenly chuckled. Its amusement was raw and a bit sardonic in the fabric of his conscience.

_If you were wondering, host, she doesn't like what you're doing. _Vincent mentally froze in his tracks as shock rippled through him. A note of nostalgia, foreign in the beast's blood-edged voice, appeared suddenly. _She reminds me of my mate._

A jumble of questions raced through Vincent's mind, stirred by this sudden revelation. _Who—?_

_Wake up, host._

…

There was a soft glow of red and gold against his eyelids, and a fragment of song brushed past his psyche, as it always did when he was revived with Phoenix Down. He floated for a moment as the restorative effects soothed his mangled mind and body. But as was expected, it took just a moment more before the euphoria lifted and his nerves became fully functional again.

He winced as the muscles and bones in his gun arm, just barely healed, jolted in pain. Vincent's eyes fluttered open, and he found the concerned faces of both Yuffie and Barret peering down at him, an opened potion in Yuffie's hand. A smile cracked across Barret's rugged face, but Yuffie only tightened her lips, her features set in hard lines.

"Thought you were a goner there, Vincent," laughed Barret, trying to lighten the suddenly disconsolate atmosphere. "Ain't that right, Yuffie?"

The young shinobi was uncharacteristically silent as she grabbed Vincent's chin and forced the potion down his throat. Her fingers were rough on his skin, as if she could care less what happened to him. He tried to catch her eyes and deduce what had caused her sudden fury, but she did not once look into his eyes as she capped the bottle and tossed it back into her pouch with unnecessary force.

Then with an inimical air, she strode off wordlessly. "Brat!" yelled Barret, "What's with you?" Turning to give Vincent a hand up, he was surprised to find that the man was already walking past him with long strides, an odd look on his face. "Hey, Vincent! What's going on?"

There was no reply as Vincent disappeared in the direction that Yuffie had gone. Shaking his head in disgust, Barret muttered to himself. "Vincent not sayin' anything, I understand, but Yuffie too? What the hell's up with those two?"

…

He saw the muscles tense in her shoulder before she whirled on him, but he intercepted the blow easily. She twisted her arm, and he let of her fist only to catch her arm. "Yuffie. This isn't like you."

She stopped her writhing but only glared over his shoulder, refusing to make eye contact. "Yeah, and that was just like you," she said, her voice tight with suppressed emotion.

He was surprised by the acrimony in her normally effervescent voice. An anger that seemed almost juvenile sprung up in his mind, urging him to snap back at her comment; what the hell did she mean?

"You're always doing this, letting yourself take the damage for others! What is this? Some sort of sick atonement?" Her entire body was rigid and taut, her voice caustic and biting. "You never care for yourself now. Don't you think you should get over that Lucrecia woman already?"

He threw her arm away from him, and the momentum swung her back to stumble a step. "You have no right to speak of her," he spat, fury pervading every one of his words. A gasp escaped her, and then her hand flashed in a quick arc.

The slap cracked in the cavern like the sound of a merciless whip, and his head snapped back as his cheek stung. Shock froze his mind as he raised a hand to his face, then looked up to see her eyes glaring back into his, their storm-gray depths awash with tears. When she spoke, her voice was choked with stifled anguish. "You're right. I don't have any right to speak of her. But you have no right to do this either."

The tacit question glowed in his eyes. She laughed bitterly, the sound like a dry cough of air in dying lungs. She turned and began staggering away, her shoulders held by sheer force of will, and the words traveled back to him in a whisper.

"Because some people care about you like you care about her."

…

AN: Don't you think Vinnie should just get over Lucrecia already? He's too hung up on her. Next chapter, hopefully, will be more cheerful because I'll be posting it on my birthday, February 26. I'll 16 years old! Sorry for the extreme angst, but I was in no mood for fluff.


	6. White Cait Sith Looking Mog

Disclaimer: I don't own FFVII.

AN: Happy birthday to me!

**.:Vicissitudes:.**

Pulling the safety catch off the gun, Yuffie raised the muzzle to the target, sighting down the barrel with a sharp eye. Her finger rested lightly on the trigger, perfectly ready to obey her every command. "This is for you, Vinnie," she whispered intensely, and pulled the trigger. There was a bang that drowned out everyone's clamoring voices for a moment.

Dropping the weapon, she held her breath as she waited for the smoke to clear to survey her results. "No!" she wailed. The neon pink, suction cup-tipped dart had landed just a centimeter from the red circle on the Mog's butt, once again. Huffing, she crossed her arms and turned accusingly to Vincent, who stood beside her with a bored expression. "I did everything you told me to! This is the fricking fifth time I tried this!"

"Yes," intoned Vincent with absolutely no interest whatsoever. He shifted slightly, trying to work out the kink in his neck that resulted after standing in line for a full hour. Why Yuffie enjoyed these childish Golden Saucer games, he couldn't profess to know. Neither did he really care, except for the fact that she had dragged him along as her shooting instructor.

Hearing her companion's dead-pan response, Yuffie sighed and gave him up for a lost cause. Instead, she faced the man responsible for doling out the prizes that were rightfully hers. Yes, those stuffed animals on the shelf behind the Mog were going to be hers, even if she had to stand there and try twenty more times. "What the hell's wrong with your game?" she demanded angrily.

The man, a rotund being with a distinctly unctuous air, guffawed a braying laugh that reminded her of Scarlet. "Sorry, miss! I guess you just ain't good enough! Say, how about tryin' again for the low price of 200 gil?"

She growled inarticulately and strode back to the end of the line. Forming her features into her best battle scowl, she muttered to Vincent, "Vinnie, we're going to win that white Cait Sith-looking Mog and the fifty GP if I have to stay here all day…"

This struck a sudden chord of foreboding within the gunman. He had been banking on the possibility that Yuffie would tire herself out after a couple of hours, then demand that he purchase food for her before they returned to the hotel. But the young ninja had resolved to do something now, and he silently despaired. Chaos chuckled sadistically at his plight. _Host, I love watching her kill you slowly…_

_Shut up. _He automatically shushed the demon as he watched the line in front of him slowly dwindle. No one had managed to hit the center of the target, though plenty of children and adolescents alike had attempted their best to shoot the dart at the red circle on the Mog's rear end.

Narrowing his eyes, Vincent scrutinized the shooters. Though he couldn't expect to the eleven-year-olds to hit the center, it was odd that not even the grizzly old soldier two in front of them made it. As the man swore and turned away, gripping the real firearms at his waist tightly, Vincent knew something was wrong.

As the child in front of them handed her ice cream cone to her nearby parent, Vincent watched closely. The girl wiped her face with an arm, then pointed in the general direction of the Mog and fired. _There!_ Even Chaos had seen it, through the sparkling cloud of smoke. The little flicker.

Yuffie yanked on his cloak impatiently. It was finally her turn again. "Come on, Vinnie! Hurry up!" Stepping up to the line, she felt a tinge of annoyance at the fat booth-keeper's smirk as he extended his hand for her money. She swore she would steal him blind as soon as she got the Mog. But when she reached for the plastic gun, a warm hand suddenly gripped her wrist, and she looked up to see Vincent staring at the man with a calculating look.

"I'll shoot," he said. At the start of her protest, he shook his head.

"Then you'll need this—" the rotund man stated, handing him the gun with an unconcerned grin. It was all the same to him whether the loud girl or the strange man shot; he was confident that neither would make it.

Wordlessly, Vincent took the gun and aimed with a smooth movement that resulted from decades of practice. He did not even take half a second to aim, and the dart flew with a comical bang, releasing a cloud of green smoke that briefly obscured their vision. As they eagerly awaited, a delighted squeal rose from Yuffie. The dart had impacted the target dead center, with no room for mistake. Even the tiny ring of exposed red surrounding the dart tip was perfectly even.

"You're AWESOME! How'd you do that?" she shrieked ecstatically. Granted, she would have preferred it if she shot it herself, but it was just as nice that he did it. He did not answer, but handed the gun back to shocked owner.

"I believe the prize would be the stuffed imitation of the Mog there," Vincent said impassively.

The booth-keeper stuttered a choked gasp, then ran to the front of the booth to take a closer look. The results were undeniable. "Wuh-what? You weren't supposed to be able to hit it!"

"No. Only on account of your clever device," he answered, pulling the Winchester out of its holster emotionlessly. The man's sputtering only increased as the large silver gun was suddenly pointed at his face.

"What-what do you think you're doing with that? Hey! Securi—eeek!" There was a sharp crack and bang, with the deep note of a true weapon. Yuffie's jaw dropped at this rather unconventional action, and the booth-keeper raised shaking hands to his now clipped mustache. "I-I…"

"…placed a mechanism on the Mog to shift it as soon as the gun was fired. The movement would be masked by the gun's smoke, and thus no one would ever win the prize, correct?"

"What do you mean? And how'd you make it then?"

"I knew it how it was going to move."

"What was the next shot for?" growled the suddenly furious man. They turned and saw that there was now a neat, round hole in the Mog's formerly crystalline eye. As Yuffie took a closer look, she suddenly noticed the sparking wires that were nestled behind the innocuous glass.

"Wow Vinnie, you do have good aim…" A more expressive man would have rolled his eyes, but Vincent only sighed and pointed the gun at the booth keeper.

"The Mog, please."

…

"You know what, Vinnie?" said Yuffie, skipping ahead of the man happily. Only the steady clank-clank of his boots informed her that he was still following.

"…"

"Thanks for getting the Mog for me!"

"…"

"And carrying it for me too!"

"…"

"And buying me two hot dogs, four egg tarts, and an ice cream!"

"…"

"Not to mention the cotton candy, chocolate chip cookies, and the caramel too."

"…"

"But you should have let me figure the shooting thing out by myself…"

"…"

"So I'm going to play that arm wrestling thing until I beat it, and you're coming with me!" The clanking abruptly stopped, and she swore she heard something like a choked gasp of fear. She turned back to glance at the tall gunman. "Vinnie?"

But he was already turning back, and walking so swiftly that if she had any doubts about Vincent's lack of normality, they were gone now.

"Hey! Wait up! Where are you going? The wrestling thing's that way!" she cried, running after him.

…

AN: Haha! XD It's my birthday! So even if my parents totally shot my self-esteem down yesterday, I must muster up some happiness to celebrate. I'm sixteen now! Yay!


	7. Cutting II

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FFVII. But then again, maybe I'm related to the owners due to the fact that I'm of the species homo sapien, so who knows…

AN: This is the continuation of "Cutting," due to **ignoredflower**'s remark about wanting to know what happened next. I read the review, and it got me thinking too, . Once again, thank you all for reading and reviewing! Haha…already seven chapters. For everybody who's reading this for the first time, if you haven't read "Cutting," then please read it! Thank you!

**.:Vicissitudes:.**

They did not speak again throughout the trip out of the caves. Barret sensed the tenseness in the atmosphere and understood that something injurious had occurred, but did not press the matter. The way both Yuffie and Vincent avoided each other while slaughtering creatures with rancorous force told him enough. But the two's animosity still grated on his nerves endlessly. So when the former AVALANCHE leader finally saw Cloud's distinctive head framed by a halo of grey clouds, Barret nearly jumped for joy and hugged Cloud with unnecessary strength, choking the slight warrior.

"Man, I love ya Cloud, I do! I finally know what Tifa's got fer ya, ya lucky bastard!" Barret cried blissfully beside Cloud's ear, deafening the twenty-one year old with his stentorian voice. When Cloud began to produce sounds reminiscent of a dying fish's, Barret finally let go and sniffed, his joy radiating from his crinkled eyes.

Massaging his ribs and checking them for damage, Cloud managed to choke out a question. "What are you so happy about? Usually, you just slap me on the back and tell me that I'm being too calm for your liking."

At this, Barret's face darkened, and he gestured furtively to the cave mouth, where his two companions stood, their mutual antagonism casting a shadow over their moods. Yuffie's knuckles were white, her hands gripped tightly on the Oritsuru. A splash of black blood still lingered on its silver-white wings. Vincent, on the other hand, showed no sign of any emotion; but his cross-armed stance emitted an anger that Cloud easily picked up.

"Did something happen?" whispered Cloud.

Barret's expression was grim. "You could say that."

…

Yuffie cleaned her weapon absently, her mind occupied by unusually somber thoughts. The reeds surrounded the log she sat on, rising in a green forest around the lake. A chilly breeze ruffled her hair, but she did not mind the cold.

The sixteen-year-old was notorious for being a treacherous, solipsistic brat, she knew, and the material theft incident did nothing to dispel that. But she had always hoped that they would forgive her, maybe even come to be fond of her sometimes scattered disposition. She had certainly become fond of them, and Vincent, especially, tugged at her heart strangely.

Her experiences with the tall gunman, granted, had not exactly been pleasant. His callous remark to Don Corneo had cut her more deeply than anything her father had said to her in anger. It was his total lack of consideration that struck her as a crueler blow than even a physical attack would have been. It was as if she were nothing but a bystander, someone whose fate did not concern Vincent in the least.

Maybe that was why she wanted him to recognize her the most, perhaps to forgive her. But it seemed that Lucrecia was far more important to him than any petulant adolescent was. Running the polishing cloth over the Oritsuru's blades, she was inattentive and felt the sharp silver slice across her finger.

Swearing at the pain, she inspected the inch-long cut that was bleeding profusely all over her hand. "This isn't worth a Cure," she muttered, searching around her for her pack. But she had left her supplies with Cloud at the main camp, seeking solace. Now she would have to walk back, with her injured finger dripping hot blood all over her clothes.

"Damn you stupid shuriken," she swore at the guilty weapon. Grumbling she turned toward the direction of the camp, but stopped when she saw a familiar figure on the path. Vincent stood there, his face hidden by the high collar of his red cloak. She did not know how long he had been there, but his arrival brought about a swirl of chaotic emotions. "Hey, Vincent," she greeted him softly.

"…" A typical Vincent answer.

But what he did next surprised her to no end. In a flash of whirling red, he appeared suddenly in front of her and raised her bloody hand, his grip light. An embroidered white handkerchief was drawn from somewhere in the depths of his cloak, and he proceeded to wrap it around her finger with quick but gentle movements. The task finished, he released her and turned, no emotion ever showing on his face.

Yuffie blinked, then instinctively called out to him. "Wait!" He paused in his step, but did not turn back to her. But now that she had his attention, she had nothing to say, and she mumbled a bit. "Um…I, uh, that is…"

He did not move, and she gained a bit of courage. "I just want to say that I'm sorry for slapping you," she said in a rush. "And that I shouldn't have talked about her like that." She waited for and feared his response.

Vincent did not say anything, seeming to consider her words for a moment. Then he swiftly reached inside his cloak and withdrew something that sparkled, tossing it to her. She caught it with her good hand and saw that it was a Cover materia; the magenta orb glowed with an inner fire that was characteristic of Mastered materia. Comprehension struck her as she realized how much damage he must have been taking with the Cover in his Winchester.

"Keep it. It is approximately 200 AP from being Mastered," he said, looking into her eyes with his own garnet ones. At the mixture of gratitude and confusion he saw, he looked down at the reeds. "I received it from Cloud some time ago, when he requested that I protect you from serious injury, due to the fact that you are the youngest of us."

Yuffie was furious. "That idiot…" she muttered. She had half a mind to punch Cloud right now for this.

But Vincent was continuing. "I knew you would not need my protection; nor would you want it. But I kept the materia anyway…I did not know the reason for it, but I think I do now."

He turned toward her once more, something shining in the depths of his eyes. "Thank you." They were just two simple words, a brief expression of gratitude, but at that moment, they meant more than the most florid speech of appreciation that she had ever heard. As he turned to leave, she knew that she no longer feared loneliness, that maybe there would always be someone watching for her when she couldn't see the future.

…

AN: For clarification, I just want to say that Yuffie cares a lot for Vincent and she knows it, but she doesn't think it's because she likes him romantically. As for Vincent, he cares for her also, but he doesn't know it, or at least he's denying it. And on a totally different track, happy Mardi Gras!


	8. Paper Stars

**Disclaimer:** Writing these disclaimers bores me, but it is necessary to say that I lay no claim to anything of Square Enix's, including FFVII.

AN: I feel like I'm having a real dialogue with my reviewers here, and I love all my reviewers! I just want to say that…but I'm really tired right now. This next drabble/one-shot or whatever occurred after consumption of unhealthy amounts of cake (that I made for myself since my parents did not even remember my birthday), so be warned of the sugar high. And thank you so much for giving me reviews and telling me happy birthday! That was one of the best birthday presents I could have gotten…so thank you! I love you guys!

**.:Vicissitudes:.**

The morning air nipped at Yuffie's bare arms as she jogged up the ancient, grass-covered path to the top of the hill. The pebbles beneath her sneakers still glimmered slightly in the clean blue-white of the pre-dawn sky. She had always loved this mile-long run, a bit of warm up to wake her fully before the group set out once more. The air was always crisp but a pleasure to breathe, for it smelled just of the simple scents of crushed grass, wet earth, and morning glory.

The little glass jar and the paper strips were stowed safely in her pack beside the Conformer, and she smiled in anticipation as her legs carried her up the winding path, her shoes just lightly striking the ground. This was her morning ritual, one that she had started ever since she was just a child in Wutai. No matter where Cloud traveled, she always made sure to search for a place of solitude a bit away from the camp for this, and she never missed a day despite occasional rain. The first couple times she did it, Cloud had looked at her funny, but the grouphad soon learned to disregard it as just another one of her idiosyncrasies.

Breathing lightly, she reached the top of the hill and sighed happily at the panoramic view that greeted her. A river ran across the flat, grassy plains, its waters currently dark and murky in the half-light. Trees dotted the land in small clumps and copses, but the landscape was marred by bleak stretches of dead dirt and rock, the results of mako draining by Shinra. Scanning the scene, she spotted the black dot that was their camp.

Yuffie sat down and leaned against the gnarled tree that had probably spent a thousand lonely years on top the hill. She took the jar out and raised it to her eyes to survey her progress. Paper stars of all sizes and colors filled the container halfway; some of them were made of ornate, traditional Wutaian paper while others were just folded of plain, white letter paper. "Still a whole lot more to go," she muttered to herself, and drew the new bundle of star paper out.

Settling herself, she began the quiet task of folding the simple origami. It was so easy—just a flattened knot at one end of the strip, followed by the repeated pattern, ending with just puffing the pentagon into a star. As her hands automatically followed through the actions, her mind wandered and the hilltop was silent save for the whistling of the wind.

But despite her sharp hearing and the quiet of her surroundings, she never heard him approach. She was just finishing a star and dropping it into the jar when his voice spoke from just feet away. "What are you doing?"

"Ah!" she screamed, her hand jerking violently and upsetting the jar, spilling some out onto the wet grass. Clutching her heart with one hand and a hidden kunai with the other, she whirled and gritted her teeth, preparing to fight. "You're going to get—urph!" she yelled, a gust of wind suddenly blowing a piece of red cloth into her mouth.

"Impressive," came a dry, familiar voice.

"Shut up, Vinnie!" Yuffie yelled, her heart rate slowing considerably as she realized who had sneaked up on her. Whipping the heavy material of his cloak away with some difficulty, she glared up into her long-time friend and companion's face. It was enigmatic as ever, but she could see the amusement in the slight crinkle at the edges of his stunning eyes. "Your cloak is evil! It's trying to kill your lovely friend, the sexy Great Ninja Yuffie. Aren't you going to take revenge and kill your cloak?" she asked accusingly.

"No, I believe that my cloak is atoning for its recent sins against you, Yuffie, and that I have no need to torture it more," he dead-panned, gracefully lowering himself to the ground beside her. She rumbled a noise of annoyance and deposited approximately twenty strips of paper into his lap. He raised a faultless eyebrow at her, and she secretly wondered if he plucked them. There was no human way that a man, even an anatomically reconstructed, mako-enhanced ex-Turk, could have neater eyebrows than Tifa did. The woman was crazy—she spent at least twenty minutes in the morning primping her hair, and yet here was Vincent, ostensibly looking better than the fighter did without any concern for his appearance at all.

"YOU are going to fold those into stars."

"…"

"You spilled all those into the grass, so you have to help me," she said, indicating the ten or so dirtied paper creations in the dirt. "You know how to make stars, Mr. Valentine. Right?"

He shrugged and began twisting the paper in his fine-boned pianist's hands, the star forming with a speed that reckoned hers. She whistled, staring at his adroit movements with surprise. After a bit, she noticed that he had purposely chosen to sit on the windy side and was now blocking most of the chill for her. Smiling, she began on her own, and they folded for a while in companionable silence.

"Hey, do they teach you that in Turk school?"

"What?"

"Does Shinra have an origami class to train their Turks?"

He snorted in slight derision. Of course, being Vincent, it was a very elegant, refined sort of snort—almost a disdainful sniff. Far from the horse-with-snot-in-its-nose sound that Barret made. Smirking at this thought, Yuffie continued.

"Do you guys get to wear frilly pink skirts or lacy white dresses in the class?" At this comment, Vincent glared at her pointedly and shifted slightly to allow the wind to buffet her face once again. She pouted. "Hey, it was just a question!"

They completed five more stars before he spoke again. "What is the reason for this?"

She answered absently while puffing her star. "What? The reason why I want to know what kind of dresses you guys wore?"

"Yuffie."

"Okay, okay, sheesh," she said, tossing the finished star into the jar. But her face became serious, and her voice was soft and low when she spoke. "I started making stars when I was six,before the Wutai War."

A wistful smile appeared upon her face. "I still remember how I was back then. I wasn't always bad, you know," she said, turning to look into Vincent's eyes. "I wasn't the best child in the world, but I wasn't too much of a brat."

Vincent's hands had grown still as he listened, and Yuffie's eyes were now staring into the brightening sky. A crescent of gold had appeared atop the hill, piercing their eyes with the light. "My mother was still alive back then. She taught me a lot of things, but one of the things that I remember the most was when she taught me how to fold stars." Yuffie looked down at the strips of paper, their gilded designs spangled with morning sun.

"She told me once that a star was more than just a folded piece of paper, that it had a tradition as old as Leviathan itself. She said Wutai was made when Leviathan saw the stars for the first time, glimmering over the surface of the clear blue sea. Their beauty dazzled Leviathan, and he leapt into the sky to reach them."

She laughed as she repeated the familiar words, laden in tradition; her voice was cadenced with the sing-song of story-telling. "But as we know, the stars are like the dead; they rest in another world completely, one where the pain and strife of this world is transformed to their light and splendor. And just the same way, their sorrow is our love. It is a world that we can never reach, for it is the reflection of our souls."

"And as Leviathan leapt, he flew majestically into the sky and reached as high as he could, his ascent trailing droplets of water everywhere. He reached so high that he saw the ghostly turrets of cloud castles floating in the sky and the trails of ice crystals left by Shiva's journeys. But even the moon grew in his sight, he could feel it—the ties of gravity. And he fell, crashing to the ocean, his descent breaking the water in tidal waves that rippled across the Planet. He fell so far that he crashed into the rock that lined the ocean, breaking it in an arc across the sea."

"And that was how the Wutai cape was formed, from the blood-stained pieces of the ocean bottom."

"How does that relate to stars?"

She laughed. "It's kind of a stupid tradition, really. We say that we fold stars to make Leviathan happy, because he likes them so much. If you think about it, he probably hates them a whole lot, since we're dangling things that he can't get in front of his spiky nose." The deep intonation that had accented her voice was completely gone, the youthful cheer once again permeating the sound.

He picked up another strip and began the process, the simple process like a meditation. It would soon be time to go back, before Cloud began wringing his lethally sharp spikes of hair. But Yuffie's voice broke into his pragmatic thoughts again.

"But my mom told me differently. She said that our wishes are like stars—we can hope but we'll probably never reach them. But we fold them anyway because each is a fragment of our soul, another bit that will maybe someday reach Leviathan and build a bridge for him to the sky. And maybe, when he's achieved the impossible, he'll listen to us and in return, we'll be able to fly into the light too."

Dropping a final star into the jar, she clambered up with loud cracks from her joints. "Hey, Vinnie, let's go back. I bet Cloud's so worried that he's ruined his hair already." He rose silently and helped her pack up the papers and jar.

As they started down the road, the white faces of morning glories greeted them, their petals awash with the reds and oranges of sunrise. Vincent watched as Yuffie skipped ahead of him, her brown hair struck with golden threads in the warm light, and he felt a sense of peace that he had not felt for a long time. After a stubbed toe on a rather mischievous root, Yuffie returned to his side and loudly plopped her feet at his slow pace, exaggerating her impatience. "Vinnie, you're so slow, like an old man!" But then she giggled and dropped the act. "But I guess it's because you got so bored by my story that you're half-awake right now…it's not like you like talking anyway…"

"No, I enjoyed it," he answered softly, and it was the truth. Though he had learned the Wutaian legends during his Turk days, he had never heard it retold by a true native. And the folding of the stars was the closest to tranquility he had ever felt since his coffin had been reopened.

She turned to him in surprise, and smiled in happiness.

Yes…perhaps if he folded enough stars and sent his wishes to Leviathan, just maybe he too would reach the light someday.

…

AN: Sorry if I wrote this slowly. Actually, I wrote most of it while my father was being a hypocritical bastard, saying that he "cares for me" and that I'm a "rude, insolent brat." In the same sentence, I swear. Ah well…life will go on, even if I hate my parents. I do love reviews though! Thanks for reading this! And yes, I do love folding stars and I actually folded about 150 during the writing of this chapter. Hooray for time-consuming, useless, but whimsical Asian origami practices!


	9. Snake Bite

**Disclaimer: **I write these so often nowadays…but no, I do not own FFVII.

AN: Thanks for 2000+ hits! Wow…this makes me feel wonderful. So thank you! I've actually recently gone to **Yeyana Valentine**'s Yuffentine forum, where I read all these amazing debates about the plausibility of Yuffentine versus Tifa and Vincent. My mind has been blown away by the amazing writing of authors like **Rose Flame** and **Nagia**, who actually make me feel bad because their characterizations are so deep, while I write fluff. Sigh…I must work harder!

**.:Vicissitudes:.**

Yuffie felt the fangs sink into her ankle before she saw the snake, and it was assuredly not a love bite. She screamed as the hot pain jackknifed up her leg, her voice piercing. In a moment, Vincent was beside her, a rare flash of worry written across his face.

"What's wrong?" he asked, urgency underlying his normal monotone. She did not answer, but threw her 4-Point Shuriken down with deadly accuracy, one of its points crushing the snake's ugly head. The black thing's body writhed sinuously, but it finally let go and she staggered away, collapsing on the grass and cradling her leg.

"Ow ow ow ow…" she whimpered, inspecting the bloody foot. Sucking in air between her teeth, she winced as she gingerly peeled her sneaker and sock off. Two perfect circles adorned her ankle about two inches above her heel, blood flowing freely from the wounds. Already, the flesh was swelling and she could feel the heat traveling up from the continuous pain in her foot. "Agh! I hate these stupid places!" she screamed in frustration.

"Then you shouldn't have ran into the grass," came Vincent's dry voice as he retrieved the shuriken from the green blades, taking a look at the snake's twitching body. His eyes narrowed as he recognized the distinctive bands striped across the iridescent black scales—a relative of the Mythril Mines crawler, characterized by a crippling poison. In a rush, he whirled back to Yuffie.

Numbness was spreading through her, and a sudden sense of weightlessness suffused her conscious. "Vinnie—" she mumbled as her arms gave out beneath her. A long arm caught her before she fell, and another slipped beneath her legs to lift her up; her senses barely registered the pull of gravity as Vincent began carrying her.

"Where're we going?" she muttered. The words were difficult to form around her lips—why was the sun so bright? It was like those days in the pagoda, when she used to stand atop the highest tiled roof and look into the sun for long minutes just to spite her worried instructors, who had told her specifically not to do those two things. The same vertigo was there, a bit sickening but thrilling.

"We are going to visit Cloud," was the answer. She could feel the vibrations rumble in his chest, and giggled. She realized that she had never been carried by Vincent before; sure, Barret had tossed her like a sack of Gysahl greens over his back a few times when she was knocked out, but Vincent had always avoided human contact. But now, he was walking quickly through the grass yet taking care not to jostle her, and she decided that she liked it.

"You're too nice," she said suddenly, as strands of his dark-night hair tickled her nose. Was that a butterfly sitting upon his shoulder? It batted its blue wings at her coyly, and she blinked as it winked at her. "Hey! There's a weird butterfly on your shoulder, Vinnie. Don't you see it?"

He looked down at her worriedly; of course, there were no butterflies in this section of Junon, and usually no insects were bold enough to rest upon his person. Yuffie's eyes were dilating already, and her skin was pallid and hot to the touch. The hallucinations had already begun, and it would be just hours before the brain damage due to the fever. Vincent cursed Cloud and his parsimony; if only they had a Heal materia or a few antidotes. But of course, Cloud, being the frugal man that he was, had merely shrugged Vincent's request off noncommittally. Now Yuffie was in a grave condition, and he had no way to help her except to rush her to medical aid.

Even through her blurring vision, she saw the tightness on his face and knew that something was wrong. Raising a hand, she placed it lightly over his heart and felt his muscles contract in surprise. "Hey, make sure I come out alive…or else I'll…" Her head lolled a bit as her remaining strength melted from her entire body. He stopped and shifted her body slightly, letting her head rest on his shoulder.

"I will."

They traveled on for what seemed like a few minutes to Yuffie, except for those strange stretches when her vision blanked out to fields of white heat, and she gradually realized that something was wrong with the visions she saw. The world melted and blended about her, and perhaps she would have flown into the sky of her mind if not for the constant pain in her foot. It anchored her, especially when she no longer felt his arms around her body, only the vague perception of flight and the caustic dryness in her throat. It hurt to breathe now, and she did not waste her breath to speak anymore.

They trekked on through the endless fields of knee-length grass, and her hanging arm sometimes brushed soft things that may have been flowers, but she did not know for sure. They stopped once in her memory, and a cool glass bottle was pressed against her lips. "Drink, Yuffie. It's a Hi-Potion…" came Vincent's always calm voice.

And she drank obediently, the silvery flavor of mint sliding her throat pleasantly; the heat in her skin subsided immediately, and she smiled as she felt the medicinal herbs begin healing her cracked lips. As he lifted her dehydrated body up once again and set out once more, she could feel the muscles move in his neck. She whispered weakly, her breath tickling his skin. "Am I going to be all right?"

"Yes," was the short answer, and she laughed slightly at his reticence. The laugh became a cough as her throat convulsed painfully, and Vincent hurriedly patted her back, taking care not to pierce her skin with his claw. But even if the wickedly sharp bronze had drawn blood, she would not have felt it. Her mind was already suffering from the sustained fever and the hallucinations; at this rate, he would only have two hours before serious damage began.

She was so light in his arms, but he knew that already; after all, Yuffie had the tiny, fine-boned frame of traditional Wutaian princesses. She had never weighed much, and would most likely retain her lithe but small form for the rest of her life. Her head rested on his chest, and her every shallow breath was a puff of warmth on his skin. Her own skin was hot and dry to the touch, with no sweat beading it as there should have been for any fevered person. It was the effect of the Xenopeltis belladonnis, or the sunbeam snake, as it was often called.

His pace quickened even further as he realized how close Yuffie was to critical condition—the Hi-Potions would extend her time a few more hours, but he could only hope that Cloud would meet them in time. Vincent had called the gunman on the PHS as soon as he began traveling, hoping that they would convene in the middle to lessen travel time, but complications always arose with these plans.

Looking down at the girl that he had come to know so well, his treacherous heart morbidly brought a defeatist thought to his mind. What if he failed? What if the fever burnt her conscious away? What if he was too late and she awoke with paralysis? And worst of all, what if she died?

At this thought, he could not help but hold her tighter to himself, as if his actions could somehow prolong her life. Vincent would not wish any of his friends to die, but he knew that deaths upon the battlefield were unavoidable and sometimes inevitable. During his Turk days, this fact had been engraved deeply in his mind whenever he saw his comrades fall under the weapons of others. He mourned them but allowed them to pass him like leaves in a stream, for that was the duty of a Turk. They were trained assassins, killers, murderers—whatever one would call it. They were not supposed to care.

But something had changed in him after the walks in the forest, plains, and mountains; the walks when she chattered incessantly beside him, made vulgar comments, and managed to sound more materialistic than Rufus did. In the beginning, he often wished to shut her up with a scathing comment, but he never did out of his usual reservation. But as time passed, he so often found himself smiling at her antics, and even Chaos occasionally chuckled in his mind.

He could not define their relationship in sharp terms, as he could with any other member of AVALANCHE. To Vincent, Cloud would always be a leader—albeit a young, sometimes befuddled one, but a leader nonetheless. But when it came to Yuffie, he could not say how far he would go to save her. She was an annoyance, a comrade, a friend, and something deeper. All he could say now was that he did not want her to die. He did not even want to ever see her in pain, he realized.

If she died—he knew, her memory would not flow away so easily. He would not be able to let go.

The drone of a motor suddenly reached his sensitive ears, gradually increasing in volume. He stopped. Was it Cloud? Vincent scanned the horizon, an unfamiliar mix of hope and apprehension rising in his throat. How long had it been since he felt this worry? There was a flash of sun against metal, and relief rushed through him as he recognized Cait Sith waving at him from the Buggy, Cloud in the driver's seat.

…

She remembered nothing but thirst and the soft murmur of voices. Another minty potion was poured down her throat before a burst of green flared against her eyelids, and the pain melted away from her foot. Then all was cool, and she floated in the sea of Leviathan, as she had done so many times before in her dreams.

Yuffie did not hear the whispered argument over where to put her sleeping form, nor did she see Cloud's embarrassment as Vincent glared admonishingly at him for leaving them to be so ill-equipped. But she would certainly have laughed her ass off when Cloud wilted and handed Vincent ten thousand gil's worth of healing equipment, including antidotes, potions, materia, and accessories.

It was finally decided that they would let her sleep through the night instead of using a Cure spell on her, and it was Vincent who tucked her into a spare bedroll as the rest of their party prepared camp. Neither she nor the rest saw Vincent pause as he adjusted the cover under her chin. Then leaning down, he lightly touched his lips to her cool forehead in a gentle kiss that only he would remember.

…

When the sun tiptoed over the tops of the mountains to fall upon the camp, no one was awake yet, except for Vincent. Cloud was, as usual, sprawled out in his bedroll, limbs stuck out at odd angles. Tifa slept quite a bit more neatly in the adjacent tent, her arms wrapped in a choking hold around the large fluffy Moogle that was usually Cait Sith's method of transportation. The loud cat himself was curled up in a very feline manner at her feet.

In another tent, Yuffie twitched in her sleep and began muttering in her sleep. Beside her, Vincent started and placed a hand on her forehead, checking the temperature. He had been at her side the whole night, watching over her. The fever had completely subsided, and her skin had returned to its normal, slightly-tanned hue. Yuffie jerked suddenly and spoke clearly.

"Leviathan…grant my prayer…" Vincent shifted uncomfortably and removed his hand. Her prayers were private business…he should leave. But she spoke before he could move.

"Stop peeing in the goddamn water, you big fat dragon!" She jerked awake and rubbed her eyes, assuming a grumpy expression. Her head felt like Cait Sith had stuffed his Moogle's cotton innards into her brain. Nothing reached her ears save the whistle of wind outside the gray walls of the tent. Blinking at the strange surroundings, she swept her gaze around her and spotted a splash of dark red. "Vinnie!" she screamed happily and reached out to tug at the fabric.

"I see you're fine once more," he answered dryly as she jerked at his cloak, using it pull herself up. Sitting up now, she ran a hand through her hair and wrinkled her nose at the oily feel. Amazing what the effects of poisoning included—pain, hallucinations, dry throats, and apparently yucky hair as well. Yawning widely, she stretched out the kinks in her back. Her body felt fine, if a bit stiff.

As he watched her returning to her normal self, complaining loudly about the state of her hair and the scratchiness of the bedroll, he realized how much he had missed it, even in that short day. The possibility of her death had scared him; that he could not deny. It had scared him so much, even though he had not recognized the emotion at the time, since he had not felt it in so many years. He had nothing to fear for or to fear the loss of during those thirty years in the coffin. But now, the vulnerability had returned—he had someone that he would not be able to lose. His Turk training told him it was a weakness; his heart told him that he didn't care.

Finally, she noticed that he wasn't listening and she pouted, crossing her arms over her chest. She bit back the hurt. It figured—he probably considered her as just another annoying brat who burdened him down. He probably saved her out of some sense of duty or because Cloud had ordered him. There was no feeling between them. She turned away, and she never expected it when he suddenly hugged her.

She felt his arms gently encircle her, one cold and hard while the other was strong and warm. He pressed her body against his briefly, a moment of closeness, and she flushed red as she realized what was happening. His breath softly fanned her hair, and her heart rate raced pleasantly as she sighed and leaned into the embrace. "I don't want this to happen again…" he whispered lowly.

She hesitated, then wrapped her own arms around him, smiling into his blue-black strands of hair. "Then don't leave me."

…

AN: Whew! Long chapter! The ending was hard to write, for some reason, despite the lovely ambience provided by DBSK, one of my favorite Korean bands. Haha…the chapter was inspired by **Rose Flame**'s fic "Tales From the Less Than Well Equipped." The effects of the poison described above are based off of the effects of the toxins in deadly nightshade, or belladonna. This plant acts as a hallucinogen (and some people use it as a drug), but even a small amount of it can cause the parasymphathetic nervous system to shut off, which can make the skin dry out totally and slough off. So don't try it! XD

And as a response to **SapphireXSerpent**, I would love to join your forum! I was going to email you, but then said that you disabled private messages. Haha, I'm actually quite an un-savvy computer person. I don't have AIM, nor do have a Xanga or a LJ. I've never posted anything on a forum either. Haha...I'm so not technologically advanced.


	10. Fragment of Memory

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FFVII.

AN: This is a somewhat melancholy piece, and it has a bit more swearing than usual. And if you've been wondering why I always add in a large amount of vocabulary, it's because I'm studying for the SAT. Ha ha…so I guess if you're studying for the SAT as well, this would be good for practice. If you really wanted, I could define vocab at the end, but I doubt you'd be interested. This was incredibly long, and I don't think I will ever exceed this length for a chapter again.

**.:Vicissitudes:.**

Yuffie hated parties. Absolutely hated them. They were nothing more than excuses for Mr. Ego Puffer Fish (a.k.a. her _wonderful_ father, Godo) to lure in unsuspecting investors. Godo said that it was all for Wutai's resurrection, and that insidiously finagling money from them was perfectly moral. Rectitude had never meant much for her so she actually agreed with him, but what truly annoyed her was the fact that she had to be present at the party.

Now, Yuffie was quite a gregarious person. Okay, so she might have stolen some materia or gil from various people, but that was no reason for people to avoid her. (Three summons, five commands, six support, and some thirty-odd magic materia weren't too much to steal from one person, right?) But she would rather act like Vincent and bury herself in a coffin for thirty years than face those endless flocks of pasty-faced courtesans with red slime smeared on their lips. Oh yeah, they called it makeup, but she preferred a more accurate description.

At the very least, for this year's Moon Festival (or time to buy ridiculously high-priced pastries at Wutai for only 250 gil each!), all of her friends were invited. Godo had resisted at first, but then she had personally screamed at him twenty minutes more than usual, threatened to destroy his wardrobe, and finally stated that she was going to elope with the first tall, dark, and deadly man she could find. After that one, her father caved and sent the gilded invitations to everyone, even Red XIII. How the cooks were going to accommodate his diet, she didn't know, but the solution probably involved extremely rare steaks.

As her maid Aki performed something like a Level 4 Limit Break on Yuffie's hair, she grimaced and thought about a certain tall, dark, and deadly man that was going to be present. The thought sent little butterflies of anticipation through her impatient heart, and she was so distracted that she did not even scream when Aki began honestly jerking her wind-swept hair into shape.

"You didn't shriek loudly enough to be heard on the other side of the pagoda this time, Lady Yuffie," remarked Aki with a slightly concerned air.

"Yeah…" muttered Yuffie as she wondered what Vincent was wearing. Was he going to appear in that cloak of his?

Aki glanced at the young princess, and swore there was a slightly lovesick look on her face. Wait…that wasn't right. Yuffie was supposed to beat suitors to bloody pulp, not actually consider them human enough to perhaps fall for them—no, it was probably a trick of the lighting. She shook her head and reminded herself to stop reading that _My Bloody Valentine_ book that she had picked up recently. It was filling her head with too many thoughts of unrequited love and epic romance.

"It's nice that Lord Godo finally enlarged the palace, don't you think?"

"Yeah. The stingy old geezer finally got enough money to build that huge hall thing next to the lake. It's such a waste of money though."

"Yes, but it is sometimes necessary to maintain an appearance of wealth."

Yuffie sighed. Oh yes, because otherwise, no one would ever invest capital in a country with leaders that could not even afford a decent house. Gritting her teeth, she clenched her hand into a fist. If being at these parties could help Wutai in any way, she would do it.

…

As her geta clacked on the paulownia wood floors, she noted the addition of water lily-shaped lanterns floating on the lake surrounding the hall. The yellow flames inside flickered with the wind, radiating bubbles of warm light on the dark water. Now that night had fallen, the musicians had begun spinning their traditional melodies out into the warm air. As Yuffie took care not to ruin her pastel blue kimono by letting it catch on the slightly roughened wood of the railings, she saw the little village boys sitting in the struts of the walkways above the water, uninterestedly strewing flower petals onto the lake and having spitting contests with each other. One, a six-year old named Taro, spat at a frog and missed, and his amateur swearing reached her ears clearly.

"Watch your mouth, Taro!" screamed a disapproving Aki.

Yuffie frowned, and then delicately put a hand on her arm. Aki, surprised, drew aside immediately. Perhaps her little princess was finally growing up! Then Yuffie flipped out her fan, coyly placed it over her face, and reprimanded the boy. "Taro, it's 'damn that fucking piece of shit,' not 'damn all that fuck stuff,'" she called out sweetly, even fluttering the silk fan appropriately.

Her maid wilted, and Taro gave a little bow of thanks from the wooden struts beneath the walkway. "Thanks, Yuffie-hime! You're the best!"

As they completed the walk to the ball room, all Aki could do was moan and shake her head. Yuffie smirked; that was fun…but now was the time for less enjoyable things. Aki left, and Yuffie paused before the door, taking a deep breath and plastering a Scarlet-style fake smile on her face. She detested these events, but if Vincent and Cloud and Co. were going to be there, it was going to be bearable.

Keeping the fan firmly in front of her face, Yuffie quietly slid the shoji screens aside and stepped into the high-ceilinged ballroom, tiptoeing past a few buffet tables being set up on the tatami mats. Only a few harassed looking cooks and servants were in this corner, and most of the silk-encased guests were at the main entrance, waiting to greet the host and his daughter. Of course, they were having a bit of trouble, since the host's daughter had just sneaked in a back door. Yuffie snickered and crept along the well-lit walls, trying to find a nice, vacant balcony where she could easily avoid talking to vacuous social butterflies.

Struggling with her kimono, which had caught on the edge of a tatami mat, she did not see an approaching man and she bumped into him as her garment finally let go of the mat that it had fallen in love with. Feeling a sudden warm body contact with hers, she gasped and whirled, expecting to see her father. But then she recognized the shock of blonde hair and the distinctive Mako eyes. "Cloud?"

"Yuffie! You look great!" the swordsman whispered, then began pushing her forward, casting furtive looks around him as he maneuvered them back into the buffet corner.

"What the hell are you doing?" she stage whispered back as she turned around to face her friend. She raised an eyebrow appraisingly as she looked him up and down, taking in the details of his clothes. This was the first time she had ever seen him in a proper suit, and she had to admit that he looked pretty good, though his hands were currently wringing his silver tie and adjusting the lapels of his black suit. Yuffie noted that his hair was, as always, spiked as stiffly as ever. It seems that some things never changed.

"Hey Yuffie. If someone wanted to ask someone to do something with him, then how would he do it?" asked Cloud distractedly as he continued to mangle his clothing.

Wow. Pronouns were so not good for Cloud. "Well Cloud, I guess you could give that someone something and then do something else," she answered sarcastically. "And stop ripping at your clothes! You're going to look rattier than Barret does if you don't stop!"

"What's that about my clothes?" rumbled a deep, husky voice with a slum accent.

Yuffie jerked, and said, "I mean rattier than a girl named Barretta! Yes, I totally mean that! And how nice you look today, Mr. Wallace!" She smiled and turned to Barret, who was dressed uncharacteristically in dark brown suit.

"Yeah, cut the crap. If you weren't all dressed up, I'd give you a noogie."

"Oh yeah?" she stuck her tongue out and wrinkled her nose. "You want the truth? Then I have to say that your suit is a lovely shade of chocobo sh—"

"Guys! Shut up!" came Cloud's tenor with an edge of command in it. His blue eyes still scanning the effulgent walls of the ballroom, he leaned down conspiratorially to them. "Where do you think Tifa is?"

"I dunno," they answered absently. Yuffie glanced around and spotted Red XIII being admired by a number of young women who seemed to enjoy petting his coat very much, but there was no sign of Tifa. A small orchestra had begun playing a rather lively Wutaian dance, and some couples were moving onto the dance floor.

"She's probably looking for someone to—" Yuffie suddenly grasped the meaning of all of Cloud's rather ambiguous pronouns. "Wait! That's what you wanted to ask, right? You want to ask Tifa to dance!"

Barret blinked at Yuffie, then turned to Cloud incredulously. "That's what got you as hyper as the brat here?" he demanded, exasperated. "What do you have to worry about? She sure as hell is gonna say yes!"

"But what if she thinks that my hair is too ugly? Or what if she didn't like the gift I gave her on Valentine's? Oh god. I didn't even get a rose for her tonight! And who said I was talking about Tifa?" Normally, Cloud was a composed man. Now, he was about as far from composed as one could get. This was the first time Yuffie had seen Cloud show so much trepidation. He had probably shown less fear before they fought Sephiroth, for Leviathan's sake.

"Stop acting like a fried Beachplug, Cloud," she said in amusement. Watching how this played out would be immensely interesting—but suddenly, a hand grabbed her arm. Preparing to berate whoever had the boldness to grab her, the sexy, cultured, and kick-ass flower of Wutai, she snarled and whipped around to see her father's lined face glowering at her. She froze. Then she closed her mouth, took a deep breath, and yelled. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Godo, dressed in richly embroidered robes of dark blue, let go of her arm and began yelling at her as well. "Stop being so _loud_!" he said, the last word deafening enough to make Cloud wince. "And where have you been? I had to say you were not feeling too well and that you were preparing for your dance!"

"WHAT!" she exclaimed not very calmly. "What dance? You didn't say anything about this!"

"Yes, you're going to lead the first formal dance," said Godo, a bit calmer now. Yuffie, on the other hand, was becoming increasingly agitated.

"Who's my partner then?" she demanded.

Godo shrugged. "Ask anyone. But I'd prefer if you asked Makoto over there; his father has quite a large sake company…"

She glanced over at Makoto and nearly regurgitated what food she had downed before the festival. Makoto was, to say the least, rather corpulent. More like a bag of pig fat bound by the sumptuous silks he was dressed in, to be exact. Turning back to her father, she answered dryly. "No thanks, I think I can find my own partner."

Godo nodded. "The dance starts in ten minutes, when we lift the lanterns. Hurry up!" With that, he walked back to the gathering of doll-like ladies and gentlemen, a solicitous smile planted on his face.

Yuffie turned back to her friends and found that Cloud was now twiddling his hands while Barret tried to keep his temper. "Hey guys, I'm going to go find someone to dance with, okay?" she called to them. Barret nodded distractedly and smacked Cloud's head with a heavy fist.

"Get a hold of yerself, man!"

She shook her head and scanned the ballroom. There was Tifa, a resplendent sight in her red gown; several men were following her in a manner best described as "female-starved canine," but she was doing a pretty good job of fending them off with a discreet kick here and there. Yuffie sighed and shook her head.

She would have loved to greet the fighter, but she had her own business to attend to. "Now, where is Mr. Dark, Tall, and Deadly?" she grumbled to herself. After all, she was going to elope with him, wasn't she? Might as well dance with him first. She spotted a gloomy, deserted corner or balcony that screamed "only for introverts and ghosts." Well, Vincent was a veritable hermit _and _an undead mako experiment, to boot. It was likely that she would find him there. She stepped out onto the balcony and looked out over the water. Here, it was quiet except for the occasional ribbet of a somnolent frog. Taking a breath of the cooling night air, she was about to leave when she heard a voice drifting from her left.

"…crecia…" The voice, so wistfully indigo, pulled at her heartstrings with its familiarity. She jerked to the side and saw a man standing in an adjacent balcony, about ten yards to her left. It seemed that she had found her quarry. With a smooth movement, she away from him and pulled a small hand mirror from her obi, angling it over her shoulder.

There stood a man, unmistakably Vincent, yet so different that he could have been another man, another Turk long ago. The suit was black, of course, and he wore it with a dignity that bespoke of times of roses and pianos, of letters written with fountain pens. His hair, customarily wild and untamed, was now brushed and held in a loose ponytail, though numerous locks still escaped to shadow his face. Now more than ever, Yuffie could see the long, dark lashes that swept over his red flame eyes. He seemed to be an eternal sentinel, gazing into the darkness while the immaterial flitted about him ephemerally.

A quiet splash pulled both their attention to the water, where the lanterns were rising from into the air in ethereal flight. As she glanced up into the sky, she gasped at the byzantine circles of floating lanterns. By some twisting of the Gravity materia, no doubt, some clever magic user was expending enormous energy to carefully lift every lantern from the air slowly, swirling them in an airborne dance of light. She had to admit, Godo knew how his stuff when it came to the night show.

"Such beauty…" Vincent whispered, and Yuffie carefully looked into her mirror again. She just needed to find a way to surprise him now, and she began tiptoeing back into the hall. But his next words caught her.

"If only you were here, Lucrecia," he sighed. There was such a painful nostalgia in that voice, like the lingering taste of fine wine that burned with its intensity.

"But then perhaps I would not be here…because you'd still love Hojo, wouldn't you?" He laughed bitterly. "Oh Lucrecia. If only I had stopped you…"

Something pricked at her heart. He still cared for Lucrecia, even after all these years—but why should she have been surprised? Vincent had willingly locked himself away in a coffin for three decades. She knew that he could have left at anytime, should he have wished, but he never did. This was a kind of love that she could not even fathom.

As she walked back into the balcony, she considered just avoiding the whole thing. She could just forget about it and dance with Makoto, maybe step on his toes a few times. But the thought left her disgusted; what kind of shinobi would just surrender so easily? She stomped her foot brusquely into the floor. "You're going to ask him, or else!" she said to herself. Or else she may never gain the courage.

Loudly clacking her way to Vincent's balcony, she steeled herself. As she approached the doorway, she saw that he was still there in that same position, leaning on the railing. He heard her immediately this time and stiffened before glancing back at her.

"Hey Vinnie," she said, watching his face carefully. He only nodded and moved slightly to make space for her beside him. Walking up to the offered spot, she scrutinized his every move out of the corner of her eye. "Um…nice night, huh?"

"Yes."

She fiddled with her obi. Now she knew why Cloud was such a wreck. She wondered if he noticed her nervousness, but he only looked ahead emotionlessly. Yuffie licked her lips and decided to just get it over with. "There's a formal dance in like two minutes, you know."

"…" She did not know if he even heard.

"And I'm supposed to lead it, so I have to dance with somebody."

He turned to her then, and her heart leapt. Did he somehow know what she was going to ask? Well, it shouldn't be difficult, considering the huge hint she had just dropped. A smile was itching to make its way to her face as she looked up at him.

But he did not see the hope that was alit in her eyes of translucent grey. All he saw was the shadow of joy that he had once seen in another woman, one that had left long ago. He placed his human hand lightly on Yuffie's shoulder and looked into her eyes with a distant gaze. "I wish happiness for whomever you choose to bless with your touch." He said the ceremonial benediction in Wutaian without a trace of an accent, and then he swept by her side and into the room with silent steps.

Left alone in the suddenly cold night air, Yuffie bowed her head, her stance unyieldingly stiff. A rebellious drop of warm liquid spilled from her eye, but she wiped it away quickly. No, it would not do for the princess of Wutai to be shedding tears for this.

…

She danced with Makoto that night, her face as serene as a morning lake. The flabby boy was not pleased that he had to expend energy to drag his vast body across a dance floor, but he did it anyway, a permanent sneer of ennui on his visage.

All remarked on how graceful the princess of Wutai looked, how exquisitely beautiful. And no one, not even Cloud or Tifa, saw the way her eyes flitted sometimes to a corner where a long-haired man stood. But as many times as she looked and wished, he never met her eyes. His were lost in a road of recall that wound eternally around a mansion in Nibelheim, where only the memory of a woman named Lucrecia dwelled.

…

AN: I told you it was melancholy. This was a pure, one-sided Yuffentine. Sorry for being so late in updating! I have a stupid UN paper to write. Ah well. The next chapter will be happier and shorter.


	11. Catch Me

**Disclaimer: **I told you once, and I'll say it again. I OWN FFVII! Haha, just kidding. Looks around furtively as SquareEnix's real, live Turks approach Don't sue me!

AN: Happiness! XD And thank you all for reviewing, once again!

**.:Vicissitudes:.**

Yuffie glanced down the shopping list that Cloud had hastily scribbled. "A gazillion Hi-Potions, two Tents, five Ethers, and—" her eyes widened with delight. "Three HP Plus materia!" An overjoyed smile spread across her face as the cogs in her mind whirled rapidly. "And he didn't even tell me not to steal materia!"

A gloved hand suddenly reached over her head and drew the scrap of ripped paper from her hands. She tilted her head back and looked up into the stoic face of one Vincent Valentine. A full ten inches taller than she was, Vincent had no trouble looking down on Yuffie. Long locks of his black hair hung down to tickle her nose and she blew at them. He paid her no mind, scanning the paper quickly with his sharp gaze. "No, Cloud did not warn you because I am coming with you. And I'll be sure that the owners of the materia shop will not suddenly find half their merchandise missing."

She pouted and pirouetted deftly to face him. "Aw, you're no fun, Vinnie. Don't you think you should live a bit?" The irony of her words struck her a second after she spoke them, and she clapped a hand over her mouth as she watched for his reaction.

But he seemed not to care, or at least his flawless poker face was perfectly in place. Only a slight smile appeared on his lips as he looked over the vermillion cliffs and cinnamon plateaus of Cosmo Canyon. The setting sun only deepened the warm tones of the ancient rock, which contrasted starkly with the coolly azure sky. The town, situated in a plenitude of natural beauty, had always instilled a sense of peace within his soul. "Yes, I do," he murmured. "If life is so…"

But Yuffie had already lost interest and was tugging on his cloak impatiently. "Come on! If I can't steal any materia, then we might as well just get this over with!" He sighed and shook his head, following her resignedly.

As they walked (or skipped, in Yuffie's case), the town's residents greeted them occasionally, though some glared as Yuffie mimicked one elder's rather pompous air. She only stuck her tongue out at them impudently, daring them to respond.

"Don't you think that excitement is good for your health?" she asked idly, hopping onto the posts of the railing and balancing with cat-like instinct. The sheer precipice dropped endlessly on the other side of the fence, but Yuffie did not seem to notice. Vincent's heart nearly burst when she wobbled a bit, and he resisted the urge to reach out and grab her down from the fence.

"No," he answered absently, keeping a vigilant eye on her feet.

"Psh. If we were all boring like you, we'd just sit on our big fat butts all day and do nothing. We'd all turn as fat as Barret is!" A slight breeze buffeted her, and she reached a hand out to grab Vincent's shoulder to keep her balance.

"Don't you think you should get down from there?" he asked, his arm ready to seize her should she fall.

"Naw. It's more fun up here!" Turning to grin cheekily at Vincent's exasperated expression, she suddenly crashed into a wall of rough rock and almost fell. But he caught her hand in his gun hand before she toppled, she righted herself to find that the railing had ended at an outcropping of sedimentary stone that jutted into the air. Glaring at the projection of rock that had ended her fun, she gasped when something shiny caught her eye. There, at the apex of the enormous boulder, was something that glinted in the setting sun. A mischievous smile stretched across her face as she blessed Leviathan for this serendipity. In her experience, sparkling objects placed in dangerous places were usually her favorite toys, materia.

Vincent's eyes had traveled along her the sheer wall of rock as well, and he realized what she was thinking. But before he could tighten his grip, she had slipped her hand out of his and leapt bodily onto the rock wall. Her shinobi training served her well and her limbs immediately found little footholds and handholds. Yuffie craned her neck back and discovered Vincent leaning against the railing, his face tight with worry. "Don't be so scared, Vinnie! I'm going to get that materia for you!"

He did not bother answering, but examined the boulder quickly, searching for a way to retrieve Yuffie before she mired herself in even more danger. The agile ninja girl, however, had no such thoughts of safety in her mind. She shinnied up the rock face quickly, slipping a few times but managing to catch herself; every time, a jolt of fear shot through his heart as harshly as Ramuh's Judgement Bolt.

"Yuffie!" he called. She only jerked her head in response, now just a few feet from the object. Extending an arm, Yuffie grabbed the final handhold and stuck her tongue out as she mentally calculated the distance she would have to reach. She hung at a precarious angle, her arms wrapped around the boulder and straining to carry her weight. This meant that she had no way of climbing over the tilted rock, and there were no grips for her either. She glanced down and saw the dizzying spectacle of the maze of cave-riddled canyons thousands of feet below, but she felt no fear. She was perfectly fine with heights, having climbed to the top of the pagoda at the age of six; it was only the horrific lurching motion of moving vehicles that struck terror in her. As a matter of fact, if Cid had not taught her so many excellent expletives, she would have avoided him as much as possible.

She flicked her gaze up again and the shiny thing glinted tantalizingly at her. But her mind told her quite sensibly that she would slip if she tried to reach that far. It was then that she made her decision. She had been speaking of excitement, right? Why not put words into actions? With a devilish grin, she turned back to Vincent, who was still standing at the railing, his agitation manifest.

"Hey Vinnie! Catch me!" And she leapt from her perilous perch and stretched her arm as far as she could. Her eyes narrowed in concentration, and in less than a second, her hand grasped a string of material and held firm. She would have smiled in satisfaction, but just as quickly, her body began to fall through the rushing air. As the sickening feeling of freefall twisted her gut, a rush of adrenaline coursed through her blood. She fell as a bird flew—as if there was nothing to hold her to the world of the mundane.

But her fall ended abruptly when an arm wrapped around her shoulders tightly, and she was pressed against Vincent's chest. He reached out with the claw and slammed it into the rock face, stopping their fall with a jerk. The momentum would have dislocated a normal person's arm, but it only strained Vincent a bit before he used it to flip gracefully up to the railing, landing with only a soft thump and the muted clink of his metallic boots.

As soon as her feet touched the ground, he released her and checked her over for any injuries, but she was perfectly fine except for a slight brushing of dust on her clothes. As a matter of fact, she was so fine that she burst into a fit of giggles as he glared at her disapprovingly. Inside, Chaos rumbled in displeasure as Vincent's Death Glare seemed to just bounce off of Yuffie's invisible shield.

"Yuffie…" he said warningly.

Her giggles transformed into rather hysterical laughter, and she started clutching her stomach instead of being frightened by his sternness. "Oh my god, that was fun. Wasn't it?" she inquired.

He thought about the surge of dread that had bled through his mind the moment when he saw her let go. No coherent thoughts had run through his mind at that point, just the need to save her. And just a moment ago, when they had regained safety on the solid, worn floor of the Cosmo Canyon plaza, his relief had been disproportionate to the situation. For a group of battle-hardened warriors, that had been little more than a slight complication, but his heart had told him otherwise.

While Vincent took his sweet time thinking over his surprising reaction, Yuffie had long given up on getting an answer from him and was examining her prize. Opening her fist, she found a length of tough black string, tied at the ends to form a necklace. Two glass beads were strung through the string, and in between them was a glowing orb of green about the size of a large marble. She gasped—it was materia! "Look, Vinnie, look!" she said, pulling his hand.

He glanced down at it and identified it as quickly as she had. Revive materia. Her face glowed with childish amusement as she brandished the necklace in his face, nearly whacking his eye. "Yes, you got your free materia for today," he remarked.

She smiled, and suddenly reached up to grip the high collar of his cloak. At the light tugging, he obligingly leaned down, wondering what she intended to do. She slipped the necklace over his head and gently pulled his hair out from under the string, her warm fingers brushing his skin. "There!" she said, surveying her work. Still at her eye level, Vincent caught her gaze and smiled slightly, the small sentiment touching his heart.

She was startled by how incredibly handsome he was when he smiled. As soon as the thought ran through her head, she blushed and realized that they were only three inches apart. "Umm…let's go! Don't want to be late for Cloud!" she lied, hoping that he didn't notice the flush on her cheeks.

"Hm," he said absently and straightened. She breathed a small sigh of relief as he drew away again and tried to calm her racing heart. As they began walking, she became highly aware of how close he was to her, and nearly tripped several times from her hypersensitivity. She became absorbed in attempting to walk without tripping and falling that when he spoke, she was surprised.

"Why did you do it?"

"Why what?"

"Why did you jump if you knew you were going to fall?" She whirled and cocked her head at him.

"Because..." At the pause, he stopped as well and looked into her eyes, silently waiting for her to continue.

"Because I knew you were going to catch me." She smiled, beaming at him before turning and running ahead to hide the furious blush.

It took a few seconds for him to react and begin walking again, and she was already enthusiastically beckoning him to come by that time. As his heart lifted pleasantly every time he saw her smile, he realized that any excitement would be good for him, as long as it involved Yuffie.

…

AN: Fremont is currently under siege by a deluge of thunderstorms and hail. I'm freezing my butt off even at home. I am also cultivating a love for FFX, even though I barely know the story. I saw the first kiss scene on a website and my reaction was something like dies from the sweetness, slumps over keyboard, then jerks up to replay the video 20 more times.

Sigh…if only I could play FFX. Then I'd write fanfics for that genre as well! Haha…I am a diehard Yuffentine fan, but the FFX storyline intrigues me. And it is undeniable that the graphics are absolutely beautiful…I don't even know most of the plot, but watching the ending scene already makes me cry.

Thanks for reading and reviewing! And the next chapter will be happy as well, so don't worry about the painful angst I had last chapter…


	12. The Secret Is

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FFVII. And Fremont is very wet.

An: This takes place in the first disc, so Yuffie doesn't know anything about Lucrecia or Vincent's past; also, Aeris is alive. And this is _not_ angst, so don't give up on me when Lucrecia's name comes up.

**.:Vicissitudes:.**

Yuffie could do a large number of things very well. For example, she could steal the materia off of any person, with the exception of her father. The old man could still kick her ass at acquiring valuable objects illicitly. She figured that it was from all those years of stealing jewelry off of rich visitors while chatting pleasantly to them about the history of Wutai, and his specialty was the wedding ring trick (guaranteed way to lose one's ring for free!). With such a parent, it was no wonder that she became such a thief.

But one thing that she most certainly wasn't an expert in was hair. When she had been a child, ladies in Wutai sometimes spent hours with expert hair dressers to adjust the length of that one lock of hair three inches to the right and ten inches down. Yes, plot the point and find the hair. Yuffie, on the other hand, liked to hack her hair off using a kunai. It was certainly faster and cheaper, but the results weren't always quite so pretty.

So when Yuffie saw Tifa and Aeris giggling as they sat on the inn's beds, brushing each other's hair, she shook her head and decided to walk back out. Obviously, they were occupied with some feminine activity that would probably bore her to death. "Come here, Yuffie!" called Tifa. Yuffie swore silently and turned. They had spotted her already.

"Yeah?" she said, stepping over to the neatly made beds covered with blue checkered blankets. Tifa was brushing Aeris's long, wavy caramel hair. As Yuffie took a seat beside the two women, she had to admire the soft luster of their hair and the slightly prismatic sheen where the sun struck the strands. Unconsciously, she raised a hand to her own roughly cut hair and wished for a moment that she could be so beautiful too.

"So, Yuffie. You're always hanging around Vincent all the time," said Tifa as she worked at a slight knot in Aeris's hair. Though Tifa's fingers seemed ever so delicate, Yuffie had seen her punch a man halfway across a room when he leered at her. And that didn't even include a tenth of the violence she used when someone had unwisely tried to steal her wallet. Tifa may have had a womanly side, but her warrior qualities would always be present.

"It's not like I want to," dissembled Yuffie automatically as she plopped down on the mattress. It was true that she spent a lot of time with the gunman, but it was mostly because Cloud so often placed them in a group. Yuffie had a sneaking suspicion that Cloud feared her um, rather _social_ personality and that he was just dumping her on poor Vincent's lap to deal with. Not that she minded much. At first, his aloofness had pricked at her and she so often became bored in his presence that she resorted to begging to be in Cloud's group. But then of course, Cloud happily obliged and added her onto his party. With Vincent.

But as time passed, she came to know him better. She became expert at reading his moods through his silences, and soon even Cloud came to her to interpret the difference between "…" and "……". (The first one meant that he supported Cloud's decision, whereas the second connoted a slightly different nuance of assent. It meant that Vincent agreed, but only because Cloud was leader. It had taken Yuffie two weeks of close observation before she deciphered that one.)

Gradually, she came to enjoy his presence and she believed that he did too. Unlike Cid or Barret, and sometimes even Tifa and Aeris, Vincent never judged—he only listened. Sometimes, she chattered on as he voicelessly followed her, and she would think that he was just blocking her out. But then he would make a wry comment or a surprisingly funny remark, and she would feel once again that he was far more complex than she had thought.

"Isn't that right, Yuffie?" came Aeris's voice.

"Huh?" she said, jerked out of her thoughts. Aeris and Tifa looked at her expectantly, then started giggling at her look of confusion. "What?" she demanded, but they only laughed some more and whispered between themselves. Miffed, the young shinobi crossed her arms over her chest and waited for them to finally stop.

"Aeris was asking you if you knew the secret of Vincent's hair," said Tifa. Aeris nodded and they both looked at her, waiting for the answer.

Yuffie made a face and remembered why she didn't spend time with girls in her younger days. "What the hell? Why would you want to know something like that?"

"Because he has really nice hair!" exclaimed Aeris in her dulcet voice. Tifa nodded enthusiastically in agreement. "Haven't you seen it? I don't think we have ever found a split end in there…"

"And you want me to just walk up and ask him, 'Hey Vinnie. What's the secret of your hair?'" she said incredulously.

"Yes!" they answered, and then Aeris gave Yuffie a curious look. "You call him Vinnie?"

She gasped and clapped a hand over her mouth. Her private nickname for the tall man had just slipped out so carelessly; now they would tease her to no end. "No, I said Vincent!" she lied.

"No, you said Vinnie," replied Tifa with conviction. The fighter turned to the flower girl and they shared a look. "Isn't that cute, Aeris?"

"Yes it is," she said. "Do you have a crush on someone, Yuffie?"

Her face betrayed her as she considered the thought. "No I don't! And shut up!"

Her retort only intensified the evil looks on their faces. "Let's make a deal," said Tifa conspiratorially. "If you get us information about how Vincent gets his hair to be so nice, we'll just let the whole thing drop."

"And?"

"And if you don't, then we'll just talk loudly about your crush in front of everybody!"

Yuffie made a mental note never again to barge in when Tifa and Aeris were doing their hair.

…

Later that day, in the evening, Yuffie stepped out of bathroom with a towel wrapped around her dripping hair. It was growing long again, and she frowned at it as she sat down in front of a mirror in the corner of the room. She let the towel drop and stared the tangled mess of dark brown on her head. It was just a bit lighter than Tifa's hair, with some parts bleached by the sun. Normally, when it was dry, she did not bother with it and just let it hang, though her headband kept it out of her face.

Looking at the sturdy wooden comb she held in her hand, she sighed and began the war against her hair. She tried the subtle approach first, coaxing the comb through the dark strands. As expected, the comb lodged itself into the hair with a monster-like grip and refused to get out or move. Yuffie gritted her teeth and tried to extricate the little implement, but only did so while pulling quite a number of strands out of her head. "Ow!" All right, so negotiating with her hair was out of the question. And if diplomacy failed, then it was time for brute force. "Come on, Yuffie!" she said, grabbing a section of her hair and gritting her teeth. Her first attack was a savage jab at the ends as she tried to rip through the kinks.

"Ah!" A sharp pain shot through her scalp. She now had at least ten pieces of hair KIA (Killed in Action). Her hair was a tenacious enemy, but she had expected no less from a part of her body. This was going to be a hard battle—she hoped that she would not have to resort to total war. Yuffie bared her teeth and growled at the mirror. She was Yuffie Kisaragi, princess of Wutai! She would not let a measly hair issue defeat her!

"What are you doing?" A voice intoned behind her, the deep monotone colored by a bit of curiosity. She turned, the comb still obstinately hanging onto her hair. There stood Vincent, leaning against the doorway with a bemused expression on his face.

"Um…hi!" she said. Now if she could only get the comb's very annoying teeth out of her hair, then perhaps she wouldn't look so ridiculous. She yanked, and nearly screamed as the comb let go—of half of her hair. Her face contorted from pain and she froze, trying to lessen the damage. "I'm doing absolutely nothing! Keep doing whatever you were doing!" she gasped weakly, turning back to the mirror.

Vincent watched this whole process with a dead-pan face. Then he sighed and strode into the room, placing a hand on hers. She stopped and looked up, confused by his action. "Let go," he commanded.

She blinked, then obeyed. "What are you—?" He shushed her with a finger on her lips. Then, he drew the comb out somehow and began running it through her hair with slow, careful movements. She had tensed at first, but was pleasantly surprised when she felt no pain. "You're really good at this, Vinnie," she said. Perhaps there was some truth in the whole "secret of his hair" thing; how else would he know how to deal with hair so well?

He worked through a knot with a methodical approach, gradually freeing and straightening her hair. "I often did this, a long time ago," he answered. Her eyes glanced up in the mirror to meet the reflection of his.

"You had long hair back then?" she asked, imagining him as a Turk with long hair. "Did you look like Tseng?"

"No and no. But I used to do this for Lucrecia…" The way he said the unfamiliar name was so melancholy, and Yuffie immediately sensed that the name carried memories, most likely painful ones. She did not say anything and only listened, as he had so often done for her. "She would laugh at my clumsiness before teaching me the proper way to do it." A ghost of a smile appeared on his lips. "She never pushed me away, even in our later days at Nibelheim…"

The motion of the comb in her hair ceased, and she ran a hand through her hair to find that he was perfectly smooth. He looked away and placed the comb down on the mattress beside her. "She never needed me, but she let me brush her hair anyway," he said pensively. She never needed him at all for anything, to tell the truth, though he could not admit it. Lucrecia had proved it well enough when she left him for Hojo, that bastard who merely used her for his own experiments.

Yuffie stared up at Vincent in the mirror and saw it in that moment, the stirring of an emotion so long suppressed within himself, yet never lessening in intensity. There was a moment when his ruby-tinted eyes became liquid with the power of a force that obviously still clawed at his soul so long after his sleep. But the moment passed in an instant, and his gaze once again became opaque, the flames fading back to the dullness of glass.

He noticed her unusual silence and mistook it for discomfort in his presence. He sighed slightly and rose to leave—why should he have expected that she would act differently? Even Aeris feared him, though it was overshadowed by her caring instinct; but still, the seed of fear was there.

"Hey, don't go," she said softly, surprising him. Yuffie hesitated, then reached out to take his hand in her small ones. "Hey, if she didn't need you to do her hair, that's okay. _I_ need you."

He looked down at his pale, skeletal hand gripped lightly in her calloused but fine fingers, and smiled faintly. She saw it, and grinned. "Otherwise, I'd look like Cloud…" she muttered, a wry look on her face. "Now sit here and do something fancy to my hair. Or teach me how to do it…"

He sighed good-naturedly and acquiesced, beginning to braid Yuffie's shoulder-length hair into a complex rope. They sat for a while in companionable silence, before Yuffie spoke.

"Hey Vinnie. What's the secret of your hair?"

His eyes shifted to hers in the mirror, slightly confused. "What secret?"

"Oh come on. There's gotta be some reason your hair is so pretty."

He laughed quietly. "If you want to know…"

…

"…it's natural," she reported. Tifa and Aeris's faces simultaneously fell with disappointment and shock. 

"What?"

"Yep. He does absolutely nothing to it." The two girls sighed and comforted each other, both bemoaning the irony of the world when a man who had been stuck in a rotting mansion for thirty years could have hair that was more beautiful than a twenty-year old woman's.

As Yuffie pulled her face into an appropriately commiserating expression, she hid her grin and fingered the little scrap of paper in her right hand. So the shampoo was "Linden Blossom," huh?

…

AN: Arg! This chapter was so bad…I'm going to fix it later. I'm going to review my SAT vocabulary and upgrade my writing for next chapter. It seems that I have a mild case of writer's block. Sorry for the cliché-ness of the last chapter! And please tell me if I start repeating plot elements or descriptive phrases, because all my past writing is starting to become muddled in my mind.

White Day is coming up in two days! For those unacquainted with Japanese culture, White Day is March 14, exactly one month after Valentine's. This is when guys give gifts back to girls in thanks for the Valentine's Day gift. Let's take a vote. Who thinks I should write a sequel to "The Sweetest Chocolate" in celebration of White Day? If you want to vote, do it quickly!


	13. Efflorescence

**Disclaimer:** I don't own FFVII. None of my work aims to detract from it in any way.

AN: Some fucking bastard stole our newest PC yesterday. I hate burglars! They should die very painful deaths, preferably by being poked a thousand times with long needles (or katanas, or shuriken, or kunai) until they die slowly from the internal bleeding. Arg…at the very least, this computer is (obviously) still intact. Sorry for the slow updates, but I'm very bogged down with SAT prep. I'm taking the April Fool's Day test, and my piano test is on the same day…so don't worry, all the promised fics will be posted some time after the tests. Short chapter today.

Soundtrack: "The Color of Love," by Rainie Yang, who is a very cute Taiwanese pop princess

**.:Vicissitudes:.**

The boy is nervous as he sits on the stone bench, fidgeting with the small bouquet of white lilies held loosely in his hands. Vincent is faintly amused as he watches the youth from the other end of the bench. In the pagoda courtyard before them, the sakura trees are blooming, shedding their wayward petals of pink into the scented air. The air is thick with shifting waves of the soft flowers, and they cover the ground with snow that is does not melt. The boy is unmindful of neither the beauty nor his watchful gaze, and he licks his lips and sighs, trying to calm himself. Seeing him, Vincent can not help but remember those times, and he asks.

"Who is she?"

The boy turns to him in surprise. He can not be more than sixteen. "Huh?"

Vincent looks pointedly at the lilies. "The one you're giving flowers to."

He laughs. "Um…well, she's so pretty, even though she doesn't think so, and she's really nice, except when she hits me…and I'm supposed to be waiting for her here," the boy says, his voice trailing off in embarrassment. A ghost of a smile appears on Vincent's face as he hears these little cliché sentiments; he wonders if he sounded the same so many years ago—how long had it been? A decade? A century? He doesn't remember anymore.

The boy looks at him curiously, at the plain Wutaian yukata that he wears. The sleeves are unusually long, covering over his hands so that only his fingers are visible. His raven hair falls in an unruly wave down his back, and the man has taken no attempt to control it. The boy can't see his eyes, but the nostalgia in his eyes is clear.

"Did you ever have a, um, girlfriend?" the youth asks, inquisitive.

Vincent doesn't answer immediately, and the boy waits uncertainly. After a minute, the teen gives up and begins to brush sakura petals off of his hair. That is when Vincent's voice surprises him.

"She always loved the sakura, she told me once. She said it was because they were so deceptive—they are famed for their transience and frailty, aren't they?" he said, and the boy nodded. Sakura were the symbols of the ancient samurai of Wutai, for their lives were as short and intense as the cherry blossoms.

"But she said that no one ever knew what they truly were. Sakura aren't ephemeral harbingers of spring, she thought. They were little gifts for the trees to cajole them into summer, into another year of sticky red cherries under the sun. Another year, and yet another year, for the trees were the true strength of the season, and the flowers their celebrations." He smiles and picks a fallen blossom up from the worn stone tiles. The boy is enraptured by the cadence of his words. "That's what she said, but I think she secretly loved them for their beauty too, but she would never admit it. And she made me promise to come every year, and to feel the warmth of sunshine through the flowers."

"It sounds like you loved her very much," the boy says respectfully. Vincent doesn't respond, but merely blows the blossom back into the dancing breeze. "The sakura sure are nice this year, huh?"

"…"

The boy forges on bravely. "Heh, there hasn't been so many flowers since the year Lady Kisaragi died twenty years ago," he says, not seeing the sudden light in Vincent's eyes. "I wasn't even born back then, but my mom says it was like it was raining sakura petals all over the pagoda, like Leviathan had granted Lady Yuffie's last wish or something." The boy turns to Vincent. "Hey, your girlfriend's kind of like Lady Yuffie, isn't she?"

Vincent stands up suddenly, and the boy starts. "She is here," says Vincent softly, looking to the grassy path that leads to the pagoda. A smile lights up on the boy's face as he sees her waving at him, a basket on her arm.

The boy turns back to him, and says, "Thanks for talking with me, mister."

Vincent nods in acknowledgement. "May your love last as long as the sakura trees," he says, and walks off as the girl bounds up the steps into the boy's arms.

And as he strolls back to the little house beside the bell where he has been living for years now, he smiles as the petals flutter in the zephyr, touching his face lightly.

"I've kept the promise, Yuffie," he says to the wind. "I've returned every year, and I haven't wept. And every year, the sakura blooms as our love did."

…

AN: Thank you for reading! Rainie Yang's music can do wonders to your mood. The other fics are coming along, but I need to prepare for the SAT, so I can't finish them yet. Please be patient!


	14. The Little Things

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Final Fantasy VII.

AN: Wow, I haven't updated in like three months. I sincerely apologize for my inconsistency… Once the tests started, they never ended, so I ended up not sleeping for about two months, and I've been catching up on sleep at school during…well, just about every class. And I'm kind of depressed about my chances of going to college, since I'm too stupid…

And please go check out Gackt's music! He is the very definition of bishounen.

**.:Vicissitudes:.**

"Cloud, what kind of clothes does Yuffie like?" asked Tifa one lazy day in May, when Cloud had a rare moment of spare time to help Tifa out at the new Seventh Heaven in Edge.

His upper body was completely immersed in the smoking, eternally bronchitic contraption that was their oven. "Could you hand me a wrench?" asked Cloud as peered into the depths of the machine. A tangled mess of color-coded wires were faintly lit by his mako-enhanced eyes. At least having those eyes was useful for something, he thought. A smooth metal handle was placed in his outstretched hand, and he began searching for the bolts that held the oven's outer shell closed. "What were you saying about Yuffie?"

"It's just that I've never seen Yuffie in something pretty, like a skirt or something. I was wondering if I could get some new clothes for her."

Cloud snorted loudly and laughed. "Are you crazy? If you take her shopping, she'll never let you buy something 'pretty.' She'd probably steal your wallet, materia, and weapons before you step into the store," he said as he deftly maneuvered the wrench. "If you want to get her something, you might as well fork over all your materia." Suddenly, something similar in weight to Barret carrying Red XIII slammed onto Cloud's defenseless foot, and he gasped incoherently at the pain.

"That's not very helpful, Cloud," said Tifa, removing her heel from the remains of Cloud's foot. "I don't even know her favorite color, for goodness sakes. Well, it's probably red for Summon materia…."

"Nobody knows Yuffie that well, except for maybe Vincent," said Cloud, while giving Tifa a Sephiroth-level death glare from behind the safety of the oven shell. "She's been hanging onto him for god knows how long now. Remember Valentine's, when we went to see the play?"

"Hmm. Come to think of it, we should get Vincent something too. The whole death reaper tattered cloak is not exactly comforting to look at."

There was a loud clank as the outer shell of the oven suddenly released its grip on the oven and fell—right onto Cloud's knees. "Ow! Stupid ovens…" he said as he scooted out from under the oven and shook the dust bunnies out of his hair. "You know, the only person who knows Yuffie's tastes is Vincent, and the only one who knows Vincent's tastes is Yuffie. We could just ask them."

"Right!" Tifa smacked Cloud's already bruised knee. "That's a great idea! It means I'll just take Vincent with me to go shopping for Yuffie's clothes, and you can take Yuffie!"

"What? I have to go shopping?" There was a suddenly crestfallen look on Cloud's face. Why did he have to make these suggestions?

…

"So why are you dragging me to go buy your clothes again, Cloud?" whined Yuffie as the swordsman dragged her into shop displaying designer battle gear in all shades of black. To her left was a discounted tar black cloak that was apparently bullet-proof. In front was a midnight black pair of boots with a large sign next to it advertising the sixteen hidden blades in the shoes. To her right was a full set of black (that is, ebony stallion black) leather clothes that looked they had just been ripped off Kadaj and his brothers. Cloud was currently examining this display with keen interest. "And you say you aren't related to those three by blood, huh?" muttered Yuffie. "If you wanted to go cosplay as some Sephiroth wannabe, you don't have to drag me along, you know."

"I'm not doing anything like that," he said, tearing his eyes from the display with some difficulty. "We're going to buy something casual for Vincent."

Yuffie face-planted. "You call this casual! What's wrong with you?"

"I don't think anything's wrong. I wear this all the time…"

She sighed. "Figures...but if you wanna buy something for Vinnie, this is the wrong place!" With that, she plied all of her 95 pounds on Cloud's arm and yanked him out of the shop.

…

"What do you think?" asked Tifa, modeling a frilly pink chiffon gown against herself. "Or maybe this." She drew a pale gold satin mini-dress that reached to mid-thigh.

Vincent stared at her with his arms crossed, looking as if he would very much like to shoot someone (perhaps that morbidly obese shopkeeper who was staring at him with an unctuous smile). To say the very least, Vincent was not comfortable if he was anywhere within fifty feet of a lingerie store, and just so it happened, the lingerie display was right next to the dress section. There was also the slight, insignificant fact that he had never been in a women's clothing shop before except for one Turk mission, when he had been ordered to take out an important official's wife.

Tifa mistook the decidedly murderous look on his face as an indication to pick another color. "I see. Baby blue then!"

"Tifa. We are here to shop for Yuffie, correct?" he said impatiently. "There is absolutely no chance that she will accept any clothing that a) covers her abdomen, b) hides more of her legs than the absolute minimum, c) is loose, d) is pink, and e) is overtly feminine. Thus, we are only wasting time here selecting clothes that she will only use for target practice."

"But I want to get her something pretty!" said Tifa, attempting her best puppy-eyes at Vincent. It didn't work.

With a mind to get _away_ from women's clothing stores as soon as possible, he had to avoid the overwhelming urge to just leap out the window and shut himself up in the nearest coffin. But he had a feeling that Tifa's prodigious strength would lead to nothing but a rude awakening for him (he could see her not only opening but breaking the coffin to pieces. Many pieces.) So he decided then to treat this whole affair as yet another type of mission. One that required a certain finesse, as well as a whole lot of boldness.

Taking a deep breath, he strode up to a saleswoman and began speaking to her in a low, urgent voice of what he required. Tifa followed languidly, her eyes constantly caught by the shiny silks and satins around her. Even though she didn't pay much attention, certain phrases from Vincent wafted up to her ears. "…no, that's too long…no, she is not my lover, nor is she my daughter…please refrain from assuming that I am a pedophile…I'd prefer if we keep the subject on clothing and not my marital status…"

Finally, after approximately forty minutes, they exited the store, Vincent walking so rapidly and exuding such an aura of sheer choler that the crowd parted easily before them. Tifa had wanted to see what was in the bag gripped tightly in Vincent's hand, but she decided not to ask after realizing that the clicking sound accompanying their footsteps was the sound of his claw tapping against his gun.

…

"No, he doesn't like button-down collars. He likes point collars," said Yuffie absently as the salesman scrambled to find the exact type of dress shirt that Vincent preferred. "Dark, burgundy red. No claret tones, because that adds blue and he doesn't like blue. Reminds him of his Turk days."

"Yes 'mam!" said the young salesman breathlessly as he ran to the other side of the store.

"Only double cuffs! Now for the tie…" said Yuffie as she scratched her nose.

Cloud stood by, feeling distinctly alarmed as he noted the price tags near him. "Um, Yuffie? Are you sure Vincent would like a suit?"

"Duh. Of course! The only clothes he wore in his Turk days were suits. He was probably born in a little three-piece suit or something."

"And how do you know all these things about what he likes?"

She looked at him incredulously, as if Vincent's preferred suit fabric were essential SOLDIER curriculum. "Don't you know? It's not like you have to be his special friend or anything…it's so obvious."

"Only to you, maybe," muttered Cloud.

"Perhaps he would like one of these!" interrupted the eager salesman, waving a selection of silk ties under Yuffie's nose. She scrutinized them with a seasoned eye as the boy ranted interminably about how he had ran into three storage rooms to fish out these specialty ties. "Hmm…never mind. I think we can go without the tie. This is supposed to be casual, right? You can just put all those back," said Yuffie dismissively.

"B-but…" he trailed off.

She turned back to Cloud. "What'd you say?"

"Never mind..."

…

By the time Cloud and Yuffie had returned to the Seventh Heaven, Vincent was already sitting at the bar, downing a glass of clear alcohol that was probably comparable to the Highwind's fuel. "Vinnie!" screamed Yuffie, engulfing him in a hug around his neck. Vincent turned and thrust a bag at her, and she in turn handed an embossed gold box to him.

Wordlessly, they sat down and nonchalantly opened the packages as Tifa and Cloud watched on with some consternation. "Why do I have a feeling like they do this all the time?" whispered Tifa to Cloud as Vincent showed no surprise that his cufflinks were silver and carried the same Cerberus motif as his gun.

"I don't know…" answered Cloud as Yuffie screamed in delight at the "AWESOME!" pair of black boots she had just discovered.

"Are they—"

"Yes, semi-soft soled for increased flexibility and a silent tread."

"And the gloves—"

"—are reinforced with steel. As for you, did you—"

"I didn't steal the money!"

"So you used Cloud's gil."

"I know what you're going to say. 'That amounts to the same as the unlawful—'"

"—seizure of another individual's legal tender. At least you didn't steal like you did last time…"

"Shut up! I bet you were acting like it's torture to buy my clothes, _just like last time_!"

"Er…I'm sorry to interrupt, but…" said Cloud. The two turned to him, with identical looks of slight annoyance. "So this isn't the first time you did this?"

"Psh. Of course not!" said Yuffie. "Come on…how else would we know all those little things about each other? And you should have heard the list of 'preferences' the first time I bought something for Vinnie…it just went on and on and on…"

"Your list of requirements for the minimum amount of femininity acceptable in your clothing was equally protracted."

"What are you talking about? There are only sixteen rules!"

Cloud and Tifa sighed and decided unanimously to leave the two. But as they left, they could not help but chuckle to each other over the odd pair. Perhaps they did not know it, but the little things that they argued over now would be the bonds that carry them through the years.

…

AN: Thanks for reading and reviewing! And memorize these numbers: 98 cm, 68 cm, 88 cm. They are Gackt's measurements, and translated to something less model-industry-ish, these numbers mean that he is extremely thin. Anyway…my father is having a fit about how I cannot skip math classes because "you MUST lay down your FOUNDATION!" Yes, with that much emphasis…anyway, the next chapter is already half-written. Thank you again for reading!


	15. Shima Uta

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Final Fantasy VII. Nor do I own the song "Shima Uta" by The Boom.

AN: Ugh…I apologize for my turtle-ness. I wrote this originally with a forlorn, depressing air. But then I scrapped that and rewrote it almost completely after I listened to the song "Shima Uta", so I'm extremely sorry for the delay. This one is not exactly Yuffentine…but I had to write it.

**Note:** all Japanese references are real. The deigo flower (deigo no hana) is the official flower of the Okinawa prefecture of Japan, and is known for its vividly red flowers. The song "Shima Uta" was written in 1992, and it draws musically from the songs of Okinawa. The title literally means "island song". Even today, it still hits in the top 100 karaoke songs in Japan.

Vocab:

obaa-san: grandmother

bento: Japanese lunch box

deigo: Indian coral bean, scientific name _Erythrina Orientalis_ Murray

haka: Japanese grave, consisting of a stone monument, a place for flowers, and a crypt below for storing ashes

Soundtrack: Shima Uta, Gackt version

**.:Vicissitudes:.**

The sky was grey and the sea sighing with waves that broke upon the shores with crashes of sound and spray. Checking the rumbling sky that threatened to dump its full load of water upon the team at any moment, Cloud bit his lip. "Guys, it looks like we've got to spend the night at Wutai. I hope Godo's okay with us staying over again," he said. The rest of them grunted their assent; as miserly as the Lord of Wutai sometimes was, he was always gracious enough to provide his daughter's friends with soft futons and hot food.

As the team wearily trudged up the grassy steppes to finally see the concave curves of the red-tiled roofs, Yuffie ran ahead while the rest of them stayed behind, too tired to keep up with the hyper ninja. She met them again at Godo's house, a set of towels ready in one hand. "You're so slow, you'd fit in at Turtle Paradise perfectly!" she teased good-naturedly. They grumbled incoherently, just intent on getting comfortable after traipsing about in the mud for a week.

An hour later, Vincent watched in amusement as Barret pounded on the bathroom door, the only wooden one in the complex. "Hurry up, Cloud! You don't hafta spend three (&ing hours doing your hair every day! It's not like you gotta look your spiky best 'cuz we're gonna beat up Reno in two minutes!"

The door opened with sudden force and smacked Barret's face with an audible bang. Out strode a dignified Cloud, dressed in a light blue yukata with a towel around his hair. "I agree, Barret. I don't need to do my hair tonight…" he said, and removed the towel to reveal…a wet mop of straight blond hair. Barret had recovered by now and was preparing to smack Cloud with a heavy gun arm, but he stopped in astonishment and reached out to disbelievingly ruffle the shorter man's hair.

"Oh my lord! It's…soft! It's not giving me cuts!"

Cloud slapped the man's hand away. "Shut up, Barret!"

"And it's not standin' up three inches in the air!"

That was when Yuffie bounded into the room, a waxed-paper umbrella in one hand and a basket in the other. "Who wants to—whoa! Your hair is human, Cloud!" The swordsman narrowed his eyes at her and rubbed his hair absently with the towel. "Well, who wants to go visit someone with me?"

They looked at her as if she had been hit with a Confuse spell. Cloud and Barret looked outside at the pouring rain that showed no sign of letting up, and muttered something about the devastating effect of falling water on their health. Tifa, already stretched out in a futon upon the floor, only snored in response. The young ninja waited a full minute for an affirmative and received none. She pouted. "What kind of friends are you?" said Yuffie, striking the tatami mats with the umbrella.

"Well…I'm sure that um, Vincent would love to go out into the rain with you!" said Cloud, trying to placate her. Vincent's eyes snapped open to give Cloud and very red, very displeased glare that screamed "I might use you for _shooting practice _later…" He sighed, then stood up and walked to Yuffie's side.

Yuffie smiled at him, then glared at Cloud. "At least _someone_ is being a real gentleman, Cloud." The swordsman handed them another umbrella and waved goodbye with a smile.

…

They picked their way across the rocky crags at the edges of the town and Yuffie bounded nimbly down the narrow path. Vincent followed along at her heels, though he was quite a bit less enthusiastic. She turned to watch as he stepped from rock to rock, and said, "Don't you want to know where we're going?"

Actually, yes he did. "…will you tell me?"

She stuck her tongue out. "Nah! We're there anyway!" And indeed, they had arrived at a tiny grey cottage, built in the lee of a rock that jutted out against the furies of the Wutaian sea. The walls were made of weatherworn wood, so old that little plants were growing in the crevices between planks where dirt collected. A small garden, still well-tended, harbored a few sprigs of herbs and vigilant vegetables, standing brave against the perilous winds. Yuffie hopped along the path, beckoning to him with an imperious hand. "Come on!"

He followed, and she knocked on the splintery, wooden door with her knuckles. "Obaa-san! It's me, Yuffie-chan!"

There was no answer, not even a clanging of ancient pots and pans or an old, familiar voice reprimanding her for her rather voluble shout. There was no sound but the incessant roar of waves, occasionally broken by the sharp cries of gulls. Without a word, she reached into her hair and removed a small pin. In seconds, the door opened with a loud creak of unused hinges, and she rushed in with a silent urgency that surprised Vincent.

He stepped into the cramped little cottage, more of a shed really, that seemed to have been built in a time when he could have been a little boy running through the village. A small stove, now long unlit, occupied one soot-streaked corner. The walls were shadowed with numerous hanging herbs and dried vegetables, an overhead jungle of homeland fragrances. There was only one window casting weak light through its smoky panes of glass onto the single bed, where Yuffie was crouched.

There, an old woman laid, her milky eyes staring blindly at Yuffie. Her few strands of white hair could barely cover her spotted scalp, and her skin was loose over her skeletal limbs. Vincent could see the faint outline of all the bones in the gaunt hand that gripped Yuffie's with a weak grip.

"Obaa-san, how have you been?" asked Yuffie, her voice tight. "It's so cold. Why haven't you been lighting the stove?" She turned to Vincent, and he quickly walked over to the little black stove. The few sticks of wood beside it were cold, but still dry; though the little house was cold, it was still surprisingly sturdy and moisture-proof. He touched a small Fire materia and whispered the spell. Warmth flooded the room as flames suddenly crackled in the old metal casing.

Yuffie opened her basket to reveal a bento, water, fruit, and chopsticks. She took the bottle of water and poured some out into a small cup. "Come on, Obaa-san. Drink something," she said softly, putting the rim of the cup to the old woman's pale, thin lips. She drank slowly, a few dribbles of water running down the sides of her mouth. With a gentleness that he had rarely seen, Yuffie wiped the water off her face with her own sleeves. She opened the bento and the rice steamed in the air. "Now please eat something…" she laughed slightly. "I promise I didn't make it this time, so it's safe to eat."

"Yuffie…chan," the old woman whispered. 

"What is it? Do you want the apple first? Or do you want me to help you go to the outhouse?"

"No…" her voice was faint, and her eyes distant as they now looked outside the window. "There is something I want to say…"

Yuffie was silent.

"Did you know that I used to hang my laundry out there on sunny days? They would just play under the sheets, my children. It's been a long time since I've seen them, my children…" She coughed, the sound now reduced to a weak rattle. "I've almost forgotten how they looked then. But I always remember how they used to tell me to move from here…'Why are you staying in this little shack?' 'What are you waiting for?'"

"I always made excuses. But the one question that I could never answer was, 'Where's otou-san?'"

She laughed, and the dry sound subsided to another quiet rattle of coughs.

"I had been waiting by myself all those years by this sea. How many years had I waited for him? Always looking north to the lonely glacial sea. He'd come back! He would! He said so…that's what I told myself."

Her blind eyes were fixed upon a single point in the horizon, a point where the sky was washed in coldly stormy clouds. "So as my children grew, their impatience grew as well. And one day, they left. They tried to take me with me, you know. But I stayed…and they visited sometimes. But they came less and less, until the war started and they all disappeared. Still, I waited here. When the army came to Wutai, I still waited here. When they left and Wutai fell to ruins, I still waited here. Even when Yuffie-chan stumbled in looking for materia and left telling me that she would make me her royal subject, I still waited."

"But it seems my wait will end soon…"

"Why?" came Yuffie's choked voice. She clenched her small fist in the covers as she tried to control her own tears. "Why did you wait for him?"

"Why…? Because that is what it means to be his wife, isn't it? To serve him, to be the lighthouse that faithfully waits to guide his ship. To be the deigo flowers that bloom every year in a sea of crimson to call him back home…"

Yuffie was silent.

The old woman sighed and laid back into the bed, her hand light on Yuffie's. A slight smile came to her face as she heard the pattering of rain falling against the glass panes. "The rain is coming, Yuffie. Isn't it wonderful?"

"Yes…"

"The sun will shine in the silver washed sky, and the wind will sing." Her eyes closed.

"The deigo flowers will fall in the sea, and I'll see you again in the forest…"

"_Shima uta yo kaze ni nori todokete okure watashi no ai wo…_"

Her hand loosened, and she sighed her last breath, a smile on her face.

…

Yuffie kneeled beside the haka and placed the vase there, with its single branch of deigo blossoms. Then clasping her hands and bowing her head, Yuffie offered a brief prayer to Leviathan that her soul would travel safely to the stars.

Drops of rain cast cold spheres of liquid on her dark brown hair, until they were suddenly blocked by an umbrella. She looked up and smiled into Vincent's face. "Thanks, Vinnie."

"…it's almost time to go."

"Okay," she said, and stood up. With a final look at the new grave, she turned and left, walking down the long road back to the pagoda. Vincent was silent as they walked, as he had been after the old woman had passed away. But she could see that he was trying to comfort her in the way he covered her completely with the umbrella while allowing the rain to hit himself.

"Thanks for coming with me," she said softly. That was not the only thing she was thankful for; after hearing her story, Cloud had offered to pay for the entire funeral out of his own pocket, sparing Godo the cost. Now a grave had been erected at the tip of the island, always facing north.

"There is no need to thank me." Vincent paused in his step to look into her eyes. "I would not leave you."

Yuffie smiled. Then as they walked beside the quiet sea, she began to sing.

"_Deigo no hana mo chiri saza nami ga yureru dake _

_Sasayakana shiawase wa utakata no nami no hana _

_Uuji no mori de utatta tomo yo _

_Uuji no shita de yachiyo no wakare_

The deigo blossoms have fallen, and soft ocean waves tremble

Fleeting joy, like flowers carried by the waves

To my friend who sang in the Uuji forest

Beneath the Uuji, I bid farewell

_Shimau uta yo kaze ni nori tori to tomo ni umi wo watare _

_Shima uta yo kaze ni nori todokete okure watashi no ai wo _

Island song, ride the wind, with the birds, across the sea

Island song, ride the wind, and carry my love with you

…


	16. Pianissimo

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Final Fantasy VII.

AN: Sorry for the long delay in updates…I have been "enjoying" Statistics for while, haha…but anyway, here's the next chapter! And yes, I do play the piano, so there will be a bit of musical vocabulary. nods as she munches toast at four in the afternoon Don't ask why I eat toast in the afternoon.

Arg...I've been influenced by too much Tsubasa Chronicles. Now I can visualize everything I write in a series of CLAMP style panels on the page. If only I could draw as well as they do...then I'd do a doujinshi.

Soundtrack: "You Are My Love..." from the Tsubasa Chronicles OST

**.:Vicissitudes:.**

"Okay, we're going to train here for a while, everybody," said Cloud as the members of AVALANCHE lounged about on the Nibelheim inn's beds in various states of fatigue, unpacking with slow motions. "It's more comfortable than staying in the mountains, so don't complain. Now we need to discuss some important matters."

Yuffie groaned loudly. "Oh gawd! Don't we have something better to do? This is so boring!"

Cloud ignored her. "This is a matter of grave importance. All members of the team have to pay attention, and that includes certain ninjas." Cloud turned to give her a sly glance, only to find that Yuffie had already crept to the wardrobe and was attempting to reach the megaelixir on the high shelf inside. "Yuffie!"

"What?"

"Pay attention! For once, we're all together when we're not fighting some huge monster and screaming our heads off, so we might as well talk about our equipment!"

Reluctantly, Yuffie slunk down from the cabinet and jumped to the ground. She looked around for a comfortable-looking seat and found none. And neither did she find a certain person. "Hey Cloud. Vincent's missing."

"What?" A quick glance verified that. Cloud groaned and ran a hand through his hair. "We need everybody here for this. Yuffie, go look for him and bring him back."

"Why me?"

"Because you weren't paying attention."

"Hey, you're starting to sound like an elementary school teacher. Always telling us to pay attention like we're little kids. What are you going to next? Tell me to stand in the corner and carry your big-ass sword over my head for punishment? I might as well start calling you Miss Cloud! Isn't that why you bought the little blue dress with all the pink bows?"

Cloud's face was gradually turning a lovely shade of pink that was rather reminiscent of said bows, and at this point, Yuffie decided that it was an excellent time to high tail it out of there. "Okay, you all have a nice day that's free of killing Yuffie's! I'll be back soon!" she cried as she leapt straight out of the inn's window to drop to the ground two stories below.

The town square was bathed in midday sun, and the heat rose from the cobbled path ways in curling tendrils of distorted air. The air was humid, and her hair immediately stuck to the sides of her face as sweat began to bead on her skin. It was the type of day when no one ventured out, when everyone slept the afternoon away in the cool darkness of their wooden houses. As she skirted the blinding liquid sun of the square, Yuffie walked into the weapon smith's shop in search of shade.

"Hello?" She knocked on the rough wooden door, but no one answered. "They sure are friendly to customers," she muttered, and turned away. Shading her eyes with a hand, she stepped out across the square with a wince as the sun burnt into her skin. "Now where's Mr. Tall, Dark, and Depressing?" Her eyes fell on the imposing, decrepit edifice that stood at the outskirts of town.

"Shinra Mansion, huh?" she said with a slight sigh. The mansion's character certainly suited Vincent very well, but she never felt at ease in the place. It had the old, sick air of years of repressed memories and joyless remorse. It was a place where dementia bred in dark halls, where tears were shed into silent rooms of stone. She shuddered even as her young legs catapulted her light body over the metal fence to land with a dusty thump among the weeds that littered the dying yard in front of the mansion.

The mansion was listless in the heat—the linden trees that once darkened its walls had wilted long ago, and their bare skeletons cast stark stripes of shadow on the ground. Yuffie walked up to the door and hesitated, then put her ear to the wood. A soft whisper of a melody reverberated faintly through, and she quietly pushed the door, knowing it would be unlocked. It opened without a creak, thanks to her shinobi skills, and the sound of the piano was much clearer. The notes were muted through the many walls of the mansion, but they rang clear with singing tone.

Yuffie tiptoed across the central hall toward the piano room. She wondered how long it had been since the mansion had heard the instrument. Of course, the team had come just months ago and had certainly banged disordered notes in their frustration as they searched for the second combination number, but it had probably been three decades since the piano had been played by a true pianist. Turning past the hall of stained glass windows, she walked silently to the doorway and stood there for a moment.

There sat Vincent at the instrument, playing the soft piece's melody with one hand. He had taken his cloak off and left it on the bench beside him; his claw rested lightly in his lap, the fingers moving lightly in the memory of a bass line that he once could play. His right hand played the rippling arpeggios of the melody effortlessly, each note placed carefully in an intricate dance of sound. Yuffie smiled and closed her eyes—she had never really had the patience to properly learn music, as most princesses were supposed to. Listening to Vincent play now gave her a slight sense of regret.

The melody wound past a final set of cadences, drifting down a diminuendo toward the final chord. It suddenly stopped as Vincent pressed a key, but nothing sounded in the piano. She opened her eyes. He lifted his hand slowly from the keyboard, his face shadowed by his long bangs.

"It was Lucrecia's favorite piece," he murmured, his voice directed to Yuffie. A bittersweet smile edged the corner of his mouth. "_Reverie_... . a dream of love, she'd say, almost a liebestraum. A fantasy that can never be finished on this instrument, in this mansion."

There was something broken in the way he sat there, his head bowed over his hands, locks of his dark hair escaping the red headband. She wanted to hug him then, just to hold him tightly until his pain disappeared. She started forward, but stopped. The awkwardness stretched like the silence between them. No, she couldn't do it.

Biting her lip, she looked up to his rigid form, outlined by the afternoon sun. Perhaps she didn't have the boldness to comfort him as she truly wished, but neither would she leave him there. Treading quietly, she approached the piano bench and lifted his cloak to sit beside him, leaning her back against his side. She could feel him tense slightly at the touch, then relax. Looking out the stained-glass windows that spanned the wall, she spoke.

"If you can't finish that piece on this piano, then play something else. Play another piece that can end."

"There will be breaks in the middle. This instrument was damaged long ago."

"There are always breaks. It's not like we're one of those perfect pianists on those recordings, so it's okay. It doesn't matter."

She could feel him turn his head from her. "Even if this were a piano crafted by the most skilled maker, even if I were a virtuoso, these hands..."

She took a breath, then twisted to rest her chin lightly on his shoulder. "It wouldn't matter to me. Anything you play, I think, will be warm..."

"Warm?"

"Yep. Warm like the sun," she said. He turned to her and cast his clear, crimson gaze into her eyes. There was gratitude in those eyes, those eyes that sometimes seemed adamantine with fury but were now soft, framed gently with dark lashes. She beamed...then realized that they were only about two inches apart. Jerking back abruptly and whipping her head around before he could see the blush on her face, she waved vaguely behind her (unknowingly nearly impaling his eye with her finger) and said, "Well, hurry up and play something!"

Vincent turned and set his hand on the piano, pausing a bit. Inexplicably, a smile came to his face as he began the piece.

As the dulcet notes softly eased her mind, the dust motes in the air drifted in their minute dances across bejeweled shafts of light, floating in their transformation from specks of rubescent light to little motes of gold. Vincent played on, the notes of the _Berceuse_ passing through his mind like the words of a familiar poem. In minutes, the quiet sigh beside him told him that Yuffie had fallen asleep to the lullaby tone. She slid a bit to the side, before he reached out and held her carefully with his claw. She did not wake at the touch, as he had expected she would.

He smiled as he played, and a part of him wished that he could just play there forever. Even as the piece was brought closer to its pianissimo end, he didn't want to leave. For a moment, he just sat there with Yuffie by his side, enjoying the warmth of the slanting afternoon sun.

Perhaps what she said was true. Perhaps there was no perfect pianist or piano in the world—or perhaps there were. But it didn't matter to him if he wasn't one, because he now knew of one who would always listen.

AN: Thank you for waiting!


End file.
